
Class. 

Book __- 

Copiglit]^"^^- 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 




EDWIN EMERSON. M. A. 

ENGRAVED FOR THE CENTURY CO., 
FROM THE PORTRAIT BY FRANZ VON LENBACH. 



POEMS 



BY 



EDWIN EMERSON, M.A 



DENVER. COLORADO 

THE CARSON-HARPER COMPANY 

1901 



1 



THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two CoHtd Received 

SEP. 27 1901 

COPVHIGHT ENTRY 
6i<^. //. /^<^/ 

CLASS <^ XXc N». 
C©PY b. 



COPYRIGHT, 1901 

BY 
EDWIN EMERSON 






CONTENTS 



Page 

Dedication 3 

On Friendship 5 

In Tune with Birds 6 

On New Year's Eve 7 

Man's Chief End 8 

The Carnation 9 

The Poet 10 

To the Star Sirius 12 

Aspirations 14 

The Gem 16 

The Gifts of Nature 17 

The Beauty 18 

Peace 19 

Evolution 20 

To My Cat 22 

Young Simmons . . 23 

On a Fashionable Belle 27 

Sleep 28 

Insane 30 

Change 34 

Immortality 36 

A Prayer to Pan 38 

Life and Death 40 

A Reconnaissance 42 

Incentives to Work 44 

A New Year Greeting 47 

I/ines Suggested by the Departure of Mrs. and Miss 

L. for Egypt, October, 1892 48 

Wiegenlied 50 

Cradle Song 51 

Ivines Suggested by the Sailing of Mrs. A. E. and 

Her Two Daughters for the U. S , . 52 

For the Wedding 55 

The Monk of Tyrol 56 

The Valley and the Mountain 64 

A Parting 66 

The Flight of the Birds 67 

To the Portrait of Mrs. S. D. Ingham 68 

Assassination of President Carnot 69 

The Timid Lover 70 



Page 

A New Day 73 

The Journey of I^ife 75 

Kin Ivcbenslauf 83 

Reflections on lyife 90 

In St. Patrick's Cathedral, at Dublin 99 

An Optimist 100 

Sketch of a Philosophy 102 

Creeds 107 

At Harrow , 108 

The Butterfly 109 

A Retrospect no 

The Clerk Across the Way 112 

Chagrin 115 

Sei Still Mein Herz 116 

Be Still My Heart 118 

Love 120 

The Waves 121 

On The Birthday Of M. L. B., Nov. 30 122 

Life's Mysteries 123 

The Stone Age 124 

Progress 125 

My Country 126 

The Cosmos 127 

Sunset 129 

Sublimities 130 

Time and Space 131 

Desponding .... 132 

Flowers 133 

On Leaving Munich 134 

Translation 135 

In the Garden of The Luxembourg 136 

Notre Dame De Paris 137 

A Reminiscence 138 

The Storm 141 

Beauty and Truth 142 

Immortality 143 

Clouds 144 

Reveries of Childhood 145 

An Aged Man's Experience 146 

Night 149 

The Glowing Coals 150 

To Duty 151 

At a Symphony of Beethoven 152 

The Morningside Park, New York City 153 

The Spirit's Power 154 

A Vision 156 

Wings 157 

Blessedness In Nature . , 158 

The Rocky Mountains and The Plains, From Denver 159 

Karl and Bertha : A Romance of the Rhine .... 165 



©ebicatton 



TO MRS. PHOEBE A. HEARST. 

This law rules all our varied human life, 

By labor only we attain our best. 

Great talent, glittering genius, know this test; 
And use their force to conquer in the strife. 
Desponding moments come ; dark days are rife ; 

Desire for sympathy burns in the breast; 

Then, when man's spirit yearns for needed rest, 
God's gift is woman! Mother, sister, wife! 
Large-hearted woman, with the gifted mind! 
Of others thoughtful, sacrificing ease. 

How many grateful hearts extol thy worth! 
Another like thee will be hard to find; 
So true, so good, the wise so sure to please; 

An honor to the land that gave thee birth! 

Munich, 1893. 



-3- 



POEMS BY EDWIN EMERSON, M. A. 



ON FRIENDSHIP. 

Yea, 'tis the glory of the mind, 
It has the power to know and find 
Its kindred-spirit, true and kind. 
To mutual confidence inclined; 
Oh! rare and happy gift! 

The quick, warm pressure of the hand; 
A readiness to understand ; 
No wish to rule or show command ; 
A perfect trust the sole demand. 
Oh! rare and happy gift! 

Respect is mutual and sincere; 
The thoughts are free, the words are clear; 
Our better-self without a fear 
We show the one who holds us dear. 
Oh! rare and happy gift! 

Far from the struggling, busy mart, 
I turn to seek the better part ; 
To find my friend ; then comes the art ; 
To hold, fast hold the trusting heart. 
Oh! rare and happy gift! 

Princeton, 1845. 

-5 — 



IN TUNE WITH BIRDS. 

In the morning, blythe I sing ; 

For the new day opens well ; 
Far beyond imagining, 

Novel splendors rise and swell. 

And I sing at noontide bright; 

For the day has steadily grown 
Clear and warm and full of light, 

As the sun nears mid-day throne. 

In the evening hour, the skies, 

All emblazoned regally, 
Tinct with colors God supplies. 

Make me sing in ecstasy. 

Oh ! to me a pressing need, 

Thus to sing, to ease my heart ; 

Like the birds, my life I lead; 
In their chorus I take part. 

But, in thought, like them I fly, 
And I sing that I may gain 

Empyrean joys on high ; 

Loosed forever from earth's pain. 

Princeton, 1845 

-6- 



ON NEW YEAR'S EVE. 

The days and months and years pass by, 
And we are borne from youth to age; 
The common lot. 
But, as the moments swiftly fly, 
How oft we make upon life's page 
A sad, sad blot. 

Oh! may the new and untried year, 
If all its hours are spared to life, 
A change behold! 
Less that is sad; more that may cheer; 
More of sweet love and less of strife; 
As we grow old. 

Then may our years, our months, our days. 
Prove each one brighter than the last. 
Links in a chain 
To bind our lives in love's embrace; 
And so secure, when all are past, 
That death be gain. 

Greencastle, Pa., 1859. 

-7- 



MAN'S CHIEF END. 

What! am I truly born to live, 

To school my powers in this glad earth? 
Then to this end my all I give, 

To perfect w^hat began at birth. 

The body, v^ondrously made; 

Richly endowed, as Fortune's child ; 
Demands the use of every aid, 

To keep this temple undefiled. 

The power to think, the power to feel, 
Within the temple deep enshrined; 

What force ! what heights ! what depths ! reveal 
The microcosm of the mind. 

To love the good ; to curb the will ; 

'Tis moral insight gives control; 
'Mid passion's storm, says — Peace; be still! 

The crowning glory is the soul ! 

Sacred man's triune mystery! 

How infinite the priceless dower! 
Devoted let it be to Thee ! 

Author of every human power! 

June, I862. 



THE CARNATION. 

At first the life dwelt in the tiny seed ; 

Then heat and moisture caused the cells to swell; 
More room, more room, became a pressing need ; 

A rootlet downward pushed where waters dwell. 

Then in the depths of the subconscious heart, 
Came strong attraction for the chemic light; 

The gemmule made its upward-reaching start, 
And sought the air as its undoubted right. 

Next, stem and leaves, and branches ever new, 
Bestow'd their grace, evolving in the sun; 

And all the parts in fit proportion grew; 

And now, at last, the glorious work is done! 

Not yet ; the Hower, consummate, lovely, rare. 
With beauty charms, with perfume fills the air! 



9 — 



THE POET. 

The poet sings his ever- varied strain ; 

Though oft he sings it to himself alone ; 
At times with joy, at times with keenest pain, 

He fills all hearts by pouring forth his own. 

He walks apart, communing with the skies. 

Or holding converse with earth's changing forms ; 

With sympathy observes the bird that flies. 
And notes the courses of the winds and storms. 

The secret yields to his persistent gaze; 

The hidden life, deep motive, he reveals; 
Reflects on what to others seems a maze; 

And knows himself, and why he thinks and feels. 

He reads his fellows as they pass him by, 
His mind illumined by an inner light ; 

And all the social intricacies lie 
As if untangled to his keener sight. 



The present, and its value, he can tell, 

And why our lives must pass from stage to stage; 
And each day's lessons having noted well, 

Proclaims in song the spirit of the age. 

As science conquers realms of knowledge new, 
And opens fields to men before untrod, 

The wealth of beauty, and the unending view, 
He welcomes as the benizons of God. 

Though dim the future, prophet-like, as seer, 
He heralds all its promise for mankind, 

When what is undreamed now, will be more clear, 
And, all bonds bursting, life be unconfined ! 



TO THE STAR SIRIUS. 

Glorious, brightest star! 
At open window, in the clear, cold night, 
In silent thought, I stand and gaze afar, 

On thy supernal light. 

In countless ages past. 
Before our sun and system rolled in space, 
Thy mighty orb, in circuit far more vast, 

Began its giant race. 

Dazed by thy flaming course. 
No wonder sages of earth's earlier time, 
Imputed to thy rays mysterious force, 

Persistent and sublime. 

At last, our minds awake; 
A later science has dissolved that spell ; 
Exact, impressive now the means we take, 

Thy parallax to tell. 

On light's swift, tireless wings. 
Throbbing through years, thy matchless rays descend, 
And reach the earth to herald brighter things 

The starry heavens send. 



Thy beams reveal to man 
A power so great it fills the mind with awe ; 
Yet, all embraced within the august plan, 

Implies the reign of law. 

So, when I see thee blaze, 
In the wide vault of night's resplendent sky. 
Thou art a torch of knowledge, and thy rays 

Guide my rapt soul on high. 

Returned, with thoughts aglow, 
To this small planet where my duty lies. 
My nobler self, illumined by thee, shall show 

Communion with the skies. 



-13 



ASPIRATIONS. 



May I be taught by cheerful birds that sing, 

Although they know not if their food to-day, 
Kind nature, with her usual grace, may bring, 
And, by her bounty, hunger's pangs allay. 
Behold! they upward fly! 

How blythe, and free from care! 
So would I soar on high, 
And breathe a purer air. 



May I be taught by the vast, starry dome, 

Which renders so magnificent the night. 
That this small earth is not the spirit's home; 
It dwells in thought amid the spheres of light I 
Far, far, it flies ; 

In ecstacy it sings. 
Glad hope which never dies, 
Upholds its tireless wings. 



-14 



May I be taught by what my spirit feels, 

Through intimations from the hoary past, 
Which, from what has been, what shall be reveals; 
So that, upon my path more light is cast. 
For growth, 'tis wise to heed 
Each hint of nature's plan; 
And follow what may lead 
Up to more perfect man. 



May I be taught life's many woes to bear, 

With constant patience, silent, thoughtful, wise; 
But, may I with my suffering brother share. 
The solace true philosophy supplies. 
Immortal truth is free. 

Is uncontrolled by time. 
Demands eternity, 

And makes man's life sublime! 



THE GEM. 

Far in the past a small and jagged stone 
Was by plutonic forces rolled and ground 
In mighty torrents, 'mid volcanic sound, 

And, mixed with sand, into the ocean thrown. 

Deep in a watery cave, but not alone. 

It lay where myriad forms of life abound, 
And, after stormy stress long rest was found ; 

While far above the primal sunlight shone. 

Then came a cycle of stupendous change; 
The fluid mass, by natural powers led, 
Rushed off, and left exposed the pebble's bed. 

Ages swept by, filled with the new and strange. 

When man appeared, he found the latent gem, 
And set it sparkling in his diadem ! 



— i6 — 



THE GIFTS OF NATURE. 

Delighted, to my fellows, I would cry, — 

Behold! in common things, what grace is found! 

Each gift of nature with perfection crowned! 
Bring we the open mind, the seeing eye. 
The ignorant are blind; 'tis vain to try 
To make them see the glories all around. 
Which spring with vigor from the fertile ground, 
Or, so profusely, in their pathway lie. 
With sordid aims, they grovel in the dust; 

And beauty infinite remains concealed; 
The loss increasing as the sad years roll. 
This is the law, inexorable, just, — 

The seeker finds, to him is truth revealed ; 
But, in the measure furnished by the soul. 



THE BEAUTY. 

Ah ! what a charm the beauty of her face ! 

And how the soul seems speaking in her eyes ! 

Sweet, tender, thoughtful; it is a surprise 
A girl so young should show such matchless grace. 

Old as I am, 'tis wonderful to trace 

Th' effects which from such loveliness arise; 
My judgment captured, reason prostrate lies; 

My heart is touched, warm feelings flow apace. 

Her voice, her glance, her mien, her perfect pose, 
And something indescribable, blend all 
In an impression, life-long to remain. 
And, as the spell continues, it still grows 
More certain in its power to enthrall 

The willing captives in its numerous train. 



-i8- 



PEACE. 

Come! gentle peace! dwell with me evermore! 

Too long I've wandered up and down the world; 
And known its losses, felt its trials sore ; 

From blissful heights been deep to anguish hurled. 
But, since I use philosophy to cure, 

I see how vain are all our petty throes, 
Where things must ebb and flow sublimely sure; 

Now bringing joy, and now unsealing woes. 
For what is man amid this wond'rous scene, 

Where countless suns and planets hang in space? 
How measure his brief life which in between 

Two dread eternities completes its race? 
Now the calm goddess, Peace, reigns in my soul ; 
For I perceive I'm part of one great whole. 



EVOLUTION. 

In ages long past, through millions of years, 

The earth was preparing for man; 
By steps slow but sure it plainly appears, 

Fair Nature worked out her great plan. 

When water was made, then fish swam the sea; 

On dry land, came reptiles to creep; 
Through oceans of air, expansive and free. 

The birds with their strong wings could sweep. 

On wide-spreading plains browsing herds fed at ease ; 

In jungles prowled fierce beasts of prey; 
From flower to flower swift flitted the bees. 

Or butterflies charmingly gay. 

And thus, for each phase in life's onward swell. 

Most splendid creations arose, 
When wonderful beings lived long and well, 

Till their epoch came to its close. 

And then the time came when most things seemed rife, 

To introduce man on the earth; 
Yet Nature delayed, and this new form of life 

Refused to announce its safe birth. 



So, fishes plowed on in the vast ancient seas; 

Aloft birds delighted to soar ; 
And monkeys continued to climb in the trees, 

Gorillas in forests to roar. 

At the last, fair Nature arose ; in her hand 

She bore a most beautiful vine; 
*Twas planted with care ; she then gave command ;- 

"Now man may appear! Here is wine!" 



TO MY CAT. 

At times so playful after welcome feast; 

But, usually demure, in sober guise. 

(Through contemplation, seemingly most wise,) 
Thou sittest tranquil, from all care released. 
But, ever and anon, oh tidy beast! 

Intent on toilet duties, thoughts arise, 

Impelling thee to wash, till thy coat lies 
As smooth as velvet, when thy task has ceased. 
But, let a strange cat enter on the scene ; 

Green eyes flash fire, thy body swells with rage, 
And every jealous hair stands out with spite. 
To thy own nature true, naught comes between 

Thine instincts and their action. That is sage. 
When thou art threatened, ready for a fight! 



YOUNG SIMMONS. 

Young Simmons loved Lucinda fair, 
She filled his heart and mind, 

And he was happy in the thought 
She was to him inclined ; 

But, when he screwed his courage up. 

And asked if she would be 
His life's companion, — she looked grave, 

And said she was not free. 

At this, surprised, young Simmons sought 

For explanation clear; 
He, all along, had felt so sure 

There was no rival near. 

Lucinda brushed a tear aside. 
And said, he well might know 

She could not leave her dear mamma, 
'Twould break her heart to go. 

Then open-hearted Simmons said, 
That need not mar their bliss, 

Mamma could come and live with them; 
Her daughter never miss. 

-23- 



Lucinda said, she always felt 

He was a generous man ; 
And if mamma could live with them, 

'Twould be a perfect plan. 

So Simmons kissed the yielding girl, 

She named the happy day, 
When they could wed, and start their home, 

Where dear mamma could stay. 

Then they were married in due form, 

And Simmons and his wife, 
Started, in love and hope, to seek 

The joys of married life. 

And, truth to tell, it must be said, 

Mamma turned out a treasure; 
She saved, she sew'd, she labored hard; 

For her to work was pleasure. 

Months passed; Lucinda's cousins dear, 

Miss Jane and Anna Brown, 
Tired of country life, resolved 

To come and live in town; 

— 24 — 



Lucinda and mamma urged both 

Awhile with them to stay; 
They were much pleased, and stayed so well, 

They never went away. 

And soon, when Uncle Abner wrote, 

That his dear wife had died. 
The ladies four his loss bewailed, 

And for the Uncle cried; 

So much they wept and talked, at last, 
To Simmons 'twas made clear. 

No peace could dwell with them again, 
Till Abner should appear. 

And so, perforce, he gave consent. 
Uncle with them should dwell; 

Thus Uncle Abner promptly came. 
And with him came as well, 

Two livel}^ boys, of romping age. 

Who filled the house with din; 
By which young Simmons realized 

The bedlam he was in. 

-25- 



And this he reaUzed so well 

That clearly he did see, 
'Twas at his club he could have peace, 

And only there be free. 

Thus he avoided all he could 
The noisy, so-called home, 

And was induced by other men, 
In devious paths to roam; 

The demon Drink seized hold of him ; 

He fell an easy prey ; 
And oft was heard, Oh ! fatal words ! 

To curse his wedding day. 

Too late, Lucinda, foolish wife, 
By these sad signs was led. 

To feel that love for her, alas ! 
In Simmons' heart was dead. 

Then, ladies all, this truth recall, — 

Between a man and wife, 
Too many relatives may crowd, 

And ruin married life. 



ON A FASHIONABLE BELLE. 

True, she's a very pretty girl; 

Her eyes are bright, I find ; 
Her clothes are fashionably made ; 

But there's no trace of mind. 

With hair arranged in latest style, 

And with a certain art; 
External is her charming smile; 

She shoAvs no sign of heart. 

A tale of woe to her I told; — 

Father and mother dead, 
Three children shivering in the cold;- 

Not one kind word was said. 

Even the marble statue's grace 
Is more than grace of form; 

The living soul beams in the face, 
Or shows wild passion's storm. 

Give me the woman in whose breast 
Soft feelings ebb and flow; 

What care I how the form is drest 
That lacks all heartfelt glow? 

-27 — 



SLEEP. 



Come gentle sleep, and close mine eyes! 
For, though the conscious life we prize, 
One oft for the unconscious sighs. 



Come, still this tumult in my brain, 
This sense of weariness and pain, 
These sad regrets, so clearly vain. 



Must I enumerate each ill, 

And fret and fume against my will. 

Too weak to order — Peace ! be still ! 



In thought I now renew that strife ; 
I add words sharper than a knife, 
To wound and fester throughout life. 

Oh ! make this weary worry cease, 
This inner tumult sink to peace. 
Deep slumber grant a kind release. 



Quench anxious thoughts and visions drear, 
They fill my very soul with fear; 
I yearn for rest when they appear. 

Softly the heavy eyelids close, 

Slowly I sink into repose, 

Dim'd the perception of my woes. 

As conscious life I now forsake. 
What matters if I never wake; 
But, sleep in peace, without a break? 



29 



INSANE. 



In this strange world of ours events take place. 
Some grave, some gay, but all without defense; 

These call for pity, those meet with disgrace; 
All seem to violate plain common sense. 

But, after pros and cons, it is too plain, 

Our sorry world is very far from sane. 



When in my study, busied with my books, 
The witless servant opens wide the door, 

Alas ! well known is this intruder's looks ; 
His vacant face, his inane smile, — a Bore. 

He stays, and talks of nothing; 'tis with pain, 

I keep my temper, — thinking him insane. 



When strolling careless, in the crowded street, 
A little elbowed, jostled here and there, 

Pleased, now and then, a valued friend to greet, 
I find my pocket picked, and I could swear ; 

But, I suppress my wrath with this refrain, — 

Who robs poor me, of course, must be insane. 

-30- 



That handsome girl I once could call my friend, 
Rejfined, well-bred by kind, parental care. 

Allowed sound judgment then and there to end, 
When led astray by love's deceitful snare. 

A life most wretched was her only gain. 

How deep my grief ! I sigh, — she was insane. 



And the young man, who finds the world most gay, 
With courage high, — a product of good health, — 

Enamored, gives both sense and heart away; 
Proposes marriage, counts on future wealth. 

No thought of cares and pains, and all their train. 

For him, but one excuse, — he is insane. 



And those who dwarf their minds, and sell the soul, 
For that which merely money seems to give; 

Becoming slaves of pelf, lose self-control; 
Give up the worth of life, that they may live. 

What folly this ! Their case is very plain. 

Moved by contempt, we say, — they are insane. 

-31- 



Some families we know, with means for ease, 
Who live exactly as their neighbors do; 

vSame forms, same food, much like the ants and bees, 
Same style of house, furnished the same all through. 

For real life such people live in vain. 

We laugh at such crude sameness, — ^'tis insane. 



Alas ! too oft we see, and long to save, 

Rare men of worth, but downwardly inclined; 

Who follow vicious appetites, and crave 

The drunkard's cup, which stupefies the mind; 

With weakened will, not able to abstain. 

From what they know must render them insane. 



Then how explain that estimable man. 
True as a friend, beloved by his wife. 

The guide revered, to whom the children ran. 

As tower of strength, firm mid the storms of life ; 

Who turns defaulter, trusts betrays for gain. 

We stand amazed ; he surely was insane. 

-32- 



Throughout all grades of animated things, 

Kind nature's plan, though often causing strife, 

If kept in view, this right solution brings, — 
She gives to all an innate love of life. 

We can but say, when men this gift disdain. 

All suicides are certainly insane. 



Yea, in the church, truth forces us to write, 
A topsy-turvy rule sometimes appears; 

Men choose the black, and gravely call it white ; 
Indulge in pious feelings for long years; 

But lose morality ; as medicine take bane ; 

Deceive themselves; poor hypocrites; — insane. 



'' 'Tis a mad world!" as Shakespeare wrote of old; 

For the strange riddle we have found a key; 
Plain common sense can not be bought or sold; 

Nor can we from the fools to safety flee. 
Why weep, and give ourselves a useless pain ? 
Let us take comfort, — we are all insane! 



-33- 



CHANGE. 

Through the dread universe we range, 
And meet one law, — the law of change ; 
From distant spheres to tiny fly. 
All moves or lives, and all must die. 

Earth in her orbit gently swings. 
And marks with change all earthly things; 
The mountains even, though sublime, 
Yield slowly to "the tooth of time." 

The heaving oceans rise and fall, 
In their wide flow around this ball, 
The circling winds, on wings most .free, 
All show mutation ceaselessly. 

And all the forests, all the leaves. 

All waving grain-fields, all the sheaves. 

All the flowers and the grass, 

Mark changing seasons as they pass. 

Each day brings on the new and strange, 
Man is, himself, the sport of change; 
Sweet infancy to youth will lead, 
And manhood must to youth succeed. 

- 34 - ■ 



And, when ripe manhood's years are past, 
Revered old age arrives at last ; 
Then calmly waits, unmoved by fears, 
Until the final change appears. 



35 



"—This life flies ; 
One thing is certain and the rest is Lies ; 
The flower that once has blown forever dies.' 
— Omar Khayyam. 



IMMORTALITY. 

Our aged, sage-like friend at last is dead; 

Eternal calm reigns in the rigid face ; 
The white hair curled about the noble head, 

Lends the domed brow, even in death, a grace. 

A solemn hush prevails around the bier; 

All feel how serious is the end of life ; 
And such a life! to most it is not clear, 

Why it should end, and close its manly strife. 

And some surmise this span cannot be all 

The space and scope for excellence so great; 

That such large stores of knowledge should not fall 
At once to nothing, by decree of fate. 

And some, — like Socrates, hemlock in hand,- — 
Are sure man's spirit will outlast the force 

Of every earthly change; and thus command 
A higher, nobler, everlasting course. 

-36- 



When man begins, to death he seems to tend; 

Body and spirit cannot disjoined be; 
All other life grows, culminates, the end 

Affords no promise of eternity. 

When, having lived, we long for endless joy, 
How vain, unreasoning the idle dream! 

Better by far so all our powers employ, 
That dying closes fittingly the scene! 

What pleasure high to pass through every stage, 
From infancy through youth to manhood's prime; 

With wisdom dignify a green, old age, 
Then gently pass away in peace sublime ! 

So, our dear friend, after his well-spent years. 
Ceases from labor, gains repose of mind ; 

Yet, lives in loving hearts ; deathless appears 
The perfect character he leaves behind ! 



37- 



A PRAYER TO PAN. 

Grant me thine aid, Oh ! dear god Pan ! 
That I may be an earnest man ! 
As time creeps on, I pray to be 
From the worst human frailties free. 

And though I feel I'm growing old, 
And blood once warm is waxing cold, 
I ask not youth, nor love, nor health, 
And certainly, I ask not wealth. 

From Vanity draw off my eyes, 
Shield me from its pretentious lies. 
Nor let it nestle in my heart. 
And make me play the weakling's part. 

If others gain deserved success. 
Favored by Fortune's kind caress, 
All envy truly let me shun, 
My peace secured by duty done. 

Keep Parsimony from control. 
By stealthy meanness, of my soul ; 
But, while a' frugal life I live, 
May I, like nature, nobly give. 



-38 



Here I present the sweet, new wine, 

And honey, at this rustic shrine; 

Oh ! genial god of flocks and herds. 

Do not disdain my sober words. '; 

So may I till my little farm. 

And guard my sheep and goats from harm,. 

Heed all the portents of the skies. 

And note the stars that set and rise. 



39 



LIFE AND DEATH. 

When life began we mortals cannot know; 

*Twas weak at first, yet blest with power to grow; 

Now, world-wide life claims lineage divine. 

The march of ages was majestic, slow ; 
Man came full late, his savage life was low ; 
Yet, the great brow was godlike reason's shrine. 

To think, reflect, and moral insight show; 
To rule oneself, lest gusts of passion blow; 
No traits like these the lives of brutes refine. 

Live humanly; thus life like fire will glow; 

It is not life to grovel here below ; 

High thoughts, good deeds, true love, — such life be mine ! 

The soul must live; and let the vain world go; 
The strenuous life, — too oft a life of woe, — 
Will merge at last into a peace benign. 

But, life hath sorrows, tears unbidden flow. 
And cares increase, and pain — it waxeth so ; 
Death would befriend, yet we his aid decline. 

— 40 — ^ 



Man clings to life for what it can bestow ; 

Misjudges death as life's relentless foe; 

But, life and death, for noblest ends, combine. 

Let friendly death discharge the debt we owe, 
And all the ills of conscious life o'erthrow; 
Then, living soul, shall life's best gift be thine! 



— 41 



A RECONNAISSANCE. 

Our start was exultant, we brooked no delays; 

We trusted our leaders, and gallop'd along; 

Reconnaissance this, and one thousand men strong; 
All thirsting for glory, and certain of praise. 

Thus forwards, and over a wide, grassy plain; 

Some miles we had come, then beheld a ravine ; 

The road passed straight through it, a change in the scene. 
We halted. Our scouts dashed ahead of the train. 

At length they returned, and soon made their report ; — 
The passage was clear, and no sign of the foe. 
Then quickly in saddle, and onwards we go; 

A cautious, slow, watchful and compact cohort. 

Steep rocks on each side, and a few, struggling trees ; 

But, circling o'erhead, the wild vultures flew high ; 

The wind in the pass seemed to moan or to sigh ; 
But, we were refreshed by the cool, pleasant breeze. 

Then, sudden, from all sides, come volleys of death; 

And horses and men, and the leaders we trust, 

Tn their dying agonies, roll in the dust ; 
And, with cries of despair, yield up their last breath. 

— 42 — , 



The stain on our prestige, we'll never efface ; 

Hemmed in; we could neither advance nor retire; 

Just slaughtered in heaps, by the enemy's fire; 
No choice but to die, in the midst of disgrace. 

That any escaped from that red throat of hell. 
Has always appeared a great wonder to me; 
A few, Oh ! how few ! were enabled to flee. 

How sad, for a soldier, this story to tell. 



-43- 



INCENTIVES TO WORK. 

Truly I work with double zest, 

My life is near its close; 
And I must try to do my best, 

Ere Death his signal blows. 

For I have had my years for thought, 
And long been schooled and trained; 

By many teachers I've been taught; 
By some, alas! restrained. 

Nature presented her large page, 

To study day by day; 
History, the course from age to age, 

Of man's long, struggling way. 

Science has called me to her side, 

And spread for eager eyes. 
Her marvels drawn from far and wide 

In earth and seas and skies. 

Sages and thinkers of all times, 

Kindly assumed the task. 
To gather wisdom from all climes, 

Beyond what I might ask. 

— 44 — 



Music has charmed me with her lyre, 

And bade my feelings flow; 
My heart has warmed with heaven's own fire, 

And set my soul aglow. 

And the procession on its way 

To the Parnassian height, 
Has sent each poet with his lay, 

To sing for my delight. 

And then, besides, this present age, 

In which my lot is cast. 
Presents each day a grander page. 

Than all the wond'rous past. 

Great problems now are boldly solved; 

Old questions set at rest; 
New methods genius has evolved, 

By which the race is blest. 

For these are living men I see ; 

I feel their rush and strife; 
This mighty throng encircles me 

With the deep tide of life. 

-45 — 



All this for years I have enjoyed; 

Great is the debt I owe; 
What time remains must be employed 

In works my thanks may show. 

So, I work on with double zest, 
My life is near its close; 

Still I must try to do my best. 
Before Death's signal blows. 



46 



A NEW YEAR GREETING. 

Gracious Lady! young and fair! 

With a brow untouched by care; 
Lo! the New Year! I express 

Desire for your happiness. 

Oh ! how much this wish implies I 
Pleasant weather, genial skies, 

Health, all blessings to enjoy, 
Work, your talents to employ. 

Friends sincere, to love you well. 
Pleasant home wherein to dwell, 

There to find the needful rest, 
Near the loving Mother's breast. 

But, if you must bear the cross, 
Pain and sickness, grief and loss, 

You will show your noblest trait, — 
A dauntless heart for any fate ! 



-47- 



LINES SUGGESTED BY THE DEPART- 
URE OF MRS. AND MISS L. FOR 
EGYPT, OCTOBER, 1892. 

God's chosen ones, in ancient time, 
Dwelt for three hundred years, 

A humble race, in Egypt's clime, 
'Mid sighs and groans and tears. 

They longed and prayed to be set free. 

From Pharaoh's cruel hand. 
Then, joyed to pass through the Red Sea, 

And leave the Nile's hot strand. 

But, times have changed since Moses' day, 

The nations fall and rise; 
Science and Art now hold their sway, 

Brightened by western skies. 

Now the elite, each chosen one, 

Hastes from the wintry gale. 
To bask beneath old Egypt's sun, 

And on its stream to sail. 

-48- 



We cannot mourn to see you go 

To old Nile's sunny shore, 
Where health and life soft airs bestow, 

And Pharaohs rule no more. 

When Spring returns, with sun and flowers, 
And ends stern Winter's reign. 

We hope the pleasure shall be ours, 
To see you both again. 

Till then, Adieu ; through God's kind hand, 

Fulfilled be each desire; 
May you come forth from Egypt's land ; 

Nor miracles require. 



— 49 



WIEGENLIED. 

Alles still in siisser Ruh*, 

Drum, mein Kind, so schlaf auch Du. 
Draussen sauselt nur der Wind, 

Su, su, su, schlaf ein mein Kind. 

Schliess' Du Deine Aeugelein, 
Lass' sie wie zwei Knospen sein; 

Morgen, wenn die Sonn' ergliiht. 
Sind sie wie die Blum' erbliiht. 

Und die Bliimlein schau' ich an, 
Und die Aeuglein kiiss* ich dann, 

Und der Mutter Herz vergisst, 
Dass es draussen Friihling ist. 

— Hoifman von Fallersleben, 



-50 



CRADLE SONG. 

All is sunk in sweet repose, 

Then my baby too must sleep, 
Out of doors the zephyr blows, 

Blows and sighs while watch I keep. 

Close the pretty, little eyes; 

Let them like two rose-buds close ; 
In the morning", at sunrise. 

They will open like the rose. 

Then the lovely flower I'll see ; 

Then the little eyes Fll kiss; 
The mother's heart in ecstacy. 

All other joys of spring will miss. 



51- 



LINES SUGGESTED BY THE SAILING 

OF MRS. A. E. AND HER TWO 

DAUGHTERS FOR THE U. S. 

A mother and two daughters dear, — 

For all good things are three, — 
Now turn their backs on Europe, for 

The dangers of the sea; 
While many things occur to vex 

The souls of those that roam, 
They have one certain pleasure, 'tis 

The joy of going home. 
May ocean's rolling waves be kind, 

Winds soft, the skies all bright. 
The steamship prove a pleasant one. 

The passengers polite; 
And when the voyage safely ends 

At fair Columbia's strand. 
May all they see prove they have reached 

The modern promised land. 
Where freemen walk, with heads erect, 

Among their fellows free; 
And license dares not flaunt its face 

To shame fair liberty; 

— 52 - 



Where capital has its reward, 

And labor gets its due ; 
Where laws are framed in equity, 

And Judgments just and true; 
Where property commands respect, 

And crime is hunted down; 
And life is safe throughout the land, 

In hamlet, vale and town; 
Where bounteous harvests from the fields, 

In swelling garners stored, 
Permit wide hospitality 

To spread a lavish board; 
Where bright, inventive genius shows 

How nature's gifts are sought, 
And science, in her studious ways. 

Enlarges human thought; 
Where woman, held in high esteem, 

Is free to come and go, 
Sure of the chivalric respect 

Sons, brothers, fathers show; 
Where education opens wide 

Her portals to the young. 
And every brave and noble deed 

In fitting verse is sung. 

-53- 



If this be true, our travelers, 

When they this land descry, 
May be excused if tears of joy 

Show full hearts beating high. 
But if, alas, it is not true, 

But merely an ideal. 
Let them resolve to make it true, 

Serving the commonweal. 



-54- 



FOR THE WEDDING. 

Here's a health to the young wedded pair ! 

The strong- husband, the beautiful wife! 
Who have vowed for each other to care, 

Come what may in the journey of life. 

We all wish for them courage and health, 
And a love that will never grow cold; 

Of what use are position and wealth 
To sad hearts that are empty and old ? 

It is true, — sickness, pain, and dull care. 
And misfortune may darken their lot; 

But, all these are so easy to bear, 

By the warm hearts whose love changes not. 

Godlike Love ! What a power is thine ! 

What a glory thy presence can give ! 
Oh! with Thee, life is rendered sublime! 

But, without Thee, we're dead while we live. 

Then a health to the partners for life ! 

Gracious Heaven its best blessings send ! 
To kind husband, and dear, gentle wife! 

May their love never come to an end ! 

-55- 



THE MONK OF THE TYROL. 



At Munich the scholastic year 

Had ended ; 'twas July ; 
And thus the way became quite clear, 

The well-laid plan to try 
Of wandering Tyrolwards, with pack, 
Studentlike, strapped upon the back. 



My friend, Geologist well-known. 

Agreed to go along ; 
Nature's old book, composed of stone, 

To him attraction strong; 
While I intended, now and then, 
To read a work from Nietsche's pen. 



By rail to Innspruck; then for days. 
Among the mountains grand, 

By many unfrequented ways, 
Throughout the alpine land. 

We roamed where dashing torrents flow, 

Or scaled high rocks, 'mid ice and snow. 

-56- 



And if my friend, in rocky bed, 

Could find some object rare. 
By this excited, he was led 

To lecture then and there. 
And make to live the wonders vast 
Of geologic ages past. 

And I, of philosophic turn, 

In shade of lofty rocks. 
Would read my friend, in words that burn, 

Some moral paradox, 
From Nietsche's page, where sparkling thought, 
Embellishes the doctrines taught. 

The lively book excuse would lend. 

As we resumed our road, 
To spread before my genial friend, 

My own peculiar code; 
So customs, ethics, church and state, 
Proved constant themes of warm debate. 

Thus traveling, we stopped one day, 

At rustic inn to dine; 
It seemed a pleasant place to stay; 

The scenery was fine; 
Before us stretched the valley wide, 
Mountains stood guard on either side. 

-57- 



Here, near the road, beneath a tree. 

The table, extra-clean. 
Was placed, so that we each might see 

The beauty of the scene; 
In bright costume, a Tyrol maid 
Placed chairs, brought wine, the white cloth laid. 

Waiting, I sat with half-closed eyes, 

Musing about the past ; 
When from the road, to my surprise, 

His step alert and fast, 
A monkish pilgrim greeted me ; 
A man of sixty seemingly. 

Sandals on feet, coarse woolen gown, 

By a rope girded tight, 
A pointed hood for his bald crown, 

A long beard, grayish-white, 
Beads and a crucifix, eyes bright blue, 
Complexion light, with ruddy hue. 

My friend and I were pleased to meet 

This unexpected guest; 
Polite, we offered him a seat. 

And said, he ought to rest; 
Then pressed him to accept a place; 
His presence would our table grace. 



Thus urged, the monk, with thanks sincere. 

Sat down with us to dine; 
With pleasure noticed the good-cheer, 

And praised our choice of wine. 
'Twas clear the old man wished to please; 
We strove to set our guest at ease. 

So, unconstrained, our out-door meal 

Went on with friendly talk ; 
I joked of geologic zeal. 

And told about our walk ; 
This led my friend to bring to light 
A specimen of Ammonite. 

"This handsome form," my friend explained, 

"Comes from the Jura range ; 
Fossils in crowds from it are gained; 

This one not wholly strange; 
The circling, spiral, chambered shell. 
Tells its aquatic story well." 

Unfitted quite to understand 

What my learned friend had said. 

The simple monk took in his hand 
This form for ages dead; 

Then asked, — "And can you fix the date. 

At which this scroll'd thing met its fate ?" 

-59- 



"No," said my friend, with a faint smile, 

"A date I cannot state; 
It must have taken a long while, 

The range is old, not late ; 
To form the Jura it appears. 
Required several million years!" 

"What," cried the monk, "Your words are wild ! 

The world's age is well-known; 
'Tis taught to every chiristian child ; 

In Genesis 'tis shown; 
Creation, — and the texts I know, — 
Took place six thousand years ago." 

The scientist, quite cool, to this 

Replied, "It is not sure, 
Who wrote the book of Genesis, 

Or, if the text is pure ; 
If dates are given, they may be wrong; 
Mistakes to human things belong." 

"The Holy Word of God on high. 

By inspiration given," 
Answered the monk, "This cannot lie; 

Poor reason oft is driven. 
Having no spiritual dower, 
To judge of things beyond its power." 

-60 — 



Fanatic-like his eyes grew keen; 

And so, I thought it wise 
To change the subject to the scene 

Spread out before our eyes, 
Remarking that — 'To us below. 
Life much of beauty here can show." 

The monk replied, 'This life is one 

Of misery and sin. 
Its only use is hell to shun, 

A heaven bright to win ; 
To sorrowing man Faith points on high, 
To the real home, beyond the sky/' 

Surprised, I said, "Through many years 

Experience records, 
That Faith, appealing to man's fears, 

Or hopes of bright rewards. 
Produced low morals, on the whole, 
And dwarfed the standard of the soul." 

The pilgrim heard with looks of pain. 

Not crediting his ears; 
Such sentiments seemed so insane. 

From one of my ripe years ; 
He laid one hand upon his breast. 
And then, these words to me addressed: — 



"Man was created perfect, wise, 
Was placed in Eden's bower ; 

He fell by means of Satan's lies. 
And lost his godlike dower; 

Became a wretched child of woe 

Henceforth, as History's pages show. 

Religion lifts the soul from earth, 

Through mysteries divine, 
'Tis only through a second birth 

We change, that we may shine 
In that high realm where angels dwell, 
And where salvation's anthems swell." 

I said, "The Eden-myth, a tale 
Drawn from a heathen source. 

In which strange miracles prevail, 
Has had a baleful force; 

Science and History can show 

Man's origin was very low. 

Besides, a superstitious faith. 

Where mysteries abound. 
Mere dicta resting on — "he saith," 

Lead to a life unsound; 
The law of life, frail man most needs, 
Is based on conduct, not on creeds." 

-62 — 



This was too much for our poor saint, 

He rose, said — he must go; 
The way was long, he made complaint, 

His gait would be but slow; 
He'd tell his beads, and say some prayers, 
For those bound up in this world's snares. 

I answered, that it gave us pain 

If we had been too free; 
We only wished to make quite plain, 

Our love of liberty 
To think as Truth seemed to require ; 
Truth glowed to us with sacred fire. 

And so, we parted, quite downcast. 

To see a man so kind, 
Clinging to errors centuries past, 

A monk in dress and mind; 
Groping in Superstition's night. 
While Science spreads the Truth's pure light. 

Munich, 1893. 



-63 



THE VALLEY AND THE MOUNTAIN. 

The Traveler: 

A charming scene ! worthy a painter's skill ! 

Just in the foreground, this old, sleepy mill. 

There the grand mountains ! To the north they trend. 

Do you dwell here, my aged, white-haired friend? 

The Old Man: 

Yes, Stranger, in the valley, here I dwell ; 
The fields are fertile ; yonder, in the dell 
A clear, trout stream glides on its quiet way ; 
And drowsy peace holds undisputed sway. 

Fm old; I've lost all wish for storm and stress; 
I love repose, and words of gentleness; 
And, with my youngest grandchild on my knee, 
I watch the clouds sail like white ships at sea. 

Those mountain-tops, long since, ere I was lame, 
I climbed with vigor, tracking the wild game; 
The furious blast, the sudden storm's unrest, 
Could not deter me from my eager quest. 

-64- 



Elate, I braved the peril, and would seek 

To stand exultant on the snow-clad peak ; 

But, I descended quickly ; for I felt 

The valley's charm, — the home where loved-ones dwelt. 

Ah ! me ! At times I would be young again ; 
In vigorous health, and free from constant pain ; 
But, by reflection, I have learned this truth, — 
One thoughtful day outvalues years of youth. 

So, now, the mountain-rampart from the cold; 
I think of as a blessing; for Vm old; 
And in this sheltered valley, well-content, 
My last, best years shall thankfully be spent. 



65- 



A PARTING. 

Sad, — such is life ; we meet, we part. 

Tears fill these aged eyes. 
Not so, — be still, my suffering heart ! 

Meet all in stoic guise. 

Not too elate upon the crest 
Of Fortune's swelling wave ; 

Nor, in the depths too much deprest ; 
But, calm, serene and brave. 

Mere feeling must not take control; 

Nor passion use its force. 
Let reason firmly guide the soul. 

And hold it to its course; 

When duty calls, the truly great 

By prompt obedience shine ; 
The self-poised man will meet his fate 

With fortitude divine. 

Let golden silence show her art: 
For words are weak and vain; 

One thought supports my heavy heart ;- 
We are to meet again! 

-66- 



THE FLIGHT OF THE BIRDS. 

Now the wild birds fly over our old house, ah, me! 

And they hasten away from this chill land of ours ; 

The short season is past of sweet fruits and fair flowers ; 
And a cold, warning breeze comes all damp from the sea. 

How they speed, as we gaze at their orderly flight ! 

A wise instinct is guiding them on their sure way ! 

They rush onwards by night just as well as by day, 
To the lands in the south, — warm, fertile and bright ! 

All that pleases them not is soon left far behind ; 

At the note of command they have quit the outworn ; 

And endurance will show while fatigue must be borne, 
Till new homes, crowned with plenty, they joyfully find! 

When dread storms of misfortune cloud over our sky; 

When keen want and disease seem about to draw near ; 

For the dear ones we love we surmise, and we fear ; 
And yet where are our wings from these perils to fly ? 



67- 



TO THE PORTRAIT OF MRS. S. D. 
INGHAM. 

Ah ! this portrait ! full of grace, 
Picturing thy lovely face. 
What profusion of brown hair! 
Curling round thy head so fair! 
Eyes sincere, devoid of guile; 
Mouth betokening a smile. 
Perfect woman! Art sublime! 
Shows thee ever in thy prime. 
Painters oft bewail the fate 
Forcing them to what they hate; 
But, this artist worked with will, 
Finding thee worth all his skill; 
Inward grace he could disclose, 
And his work the master shows ; 
Doubtless, to himself he said, — 
''This will live when I am dead.'* 
Sixty years have sped away; — 
Late, I knew thee old and gray, 
When the promise of thy youth 
Ripened, and in very truth. 
Nobleness of heart and mind 
Shone in character refined. 

-68 — 



ASSASSINATION OF PRESIDENT CARNOT, 
June 24, 1894. 



Now that it is too late, it is so clear 

That nations may their history unlearn; 
Its sternest lessons failing to discern; 

And lose possessions all men should revere. 

The priceless man, to noble hearts most dear; 

Who sought the plaudits of the wise to earn ; 

Who never from bright honor's path would turn; 
Was all too good and mild, too void of fear. 

Thus wrathful men were with calm reason met; 

Their hate and malice thought to be in vain ; 

Base plots of vengeance treated with disdain; — 
But, Carnot dies ! What horror ! What regret ! 

The noblest gift unguarded, — 'twas insane 
To let a felon fill the world with pain. 



69- 



THE TIMID LOVER. 

Here, in her garden, filled with flowers, 

My beauteous lady fair. 
Now walks to while away the time, 

And breathe the scented air ; 
And, as with stealthy glance, I look 

Upon her matchless face. 
My heart more deeply feels the power 

Of her surprising grace. 
And this it is has made me wish 

To seek to claim her hand; 
But, still, as yet, I have not dared 

To make the bold demand. 
When I draw near to speak to her. 

She greets me pleasantly. 
But her dark eyes have depths profound, 

Like to the deep, deep sea ; 
And as I cannot fathom them, 

My doubt and fear are great ; 
Till I know more, it would be rash 

To rush upon my fate. 
When rival swains approach, I watch; 

Her slightest words I weigh; 
But, that she has a preference. 

Nor acts, nor words betray. 

— 70 — 



She is most genial with them all, 

And each has hopes, I fear; 
Yet, like myself, they wait until 

Some sign makes progress clear. 
But, I am careful as to dress, 

I violate no rules ; 
Those who neglect the arts of life 

Are little less than fools. 
And oft, a present in my hand, 

Some dainty, pretty thing, 
I think will smooth my doubtful way, 

To her I gladly bring; 
She takes it as a passing gift. 

But still no ardor shows ; 
It answers for the moment's need, 

Its force no further goes. 
At times she leaves her pleasant home, 

Visits an absent friend; 
My pain is great while she's away, 

Slow days drag to their end; 
For I know not what beaux she meets, 

I only can surmise; 
And when, at last, she has returned, 

I dread a great surprise ; 

-71- 



Then, not for weeks, can I assume 

All danger has passed by; 
That I am free once more to hope. 

And fume, and fret, and sigh. 
Now, in the garden, as she strolls, 

Along the shady walk, 
I could disclose to her my love, 

And eloquently talk; 
All seems propitious, she's alone ; 

It is the month of May ; 
And I am forced to realize 

The danger of delay. 
But I'm afraid; she might reveal 

A want of sympathy; 
And, if her answer were adverse, — 

What would become of me! 



-72- 



A NEW DAY. 

The morning dawns, I wake to a new day ; 

Some wished-for good may be accomplished now; 
The task unfinished, with no more delay, 

Completed in accordance with my vow. 

The kindly deed that I have had in mind, 
This day shall be fulfilled ere setting sun; 

My brother's wounds I'll cleanse, and gently bind, 
And pour in oil and wine ; love's duty done. 

Perchance I can in fitting words disclose, 

How half-truths oft in youthful minds do rest, 

And truth and error side by side repose ; 
Then show that full-orbed verity is best. 

Perhaps, some souls caught by a false faith's snare. 
Pressed down by gloomy supertition's load, 

I may release, and lead to bracing air. 
And start them forwards on a sunny road. 

Or, seeing one incautiously draw near 

To lurking dangers, all to him unknown, 

Point out the deadly perils ; thus make clear. 
My wish to live not for myself alone. 

-73- 



If, in return for all the varied years 

Of life kind nature has vouchsafed to me, 

Now daily, larger, riper fruit appears, — 
Cheered by success, how happy I shall be! 



74- 



THE JOURNEY OF LIFE, 

AS SEEN FROM THE ALTITUDE OF SEVENTY YEARS. 

July 2, 182s- i8pj. 

From many causes it is clear, 

The travelers are few. 
Who have the strength to persevere 

To this grand point of view; 
Where, in vast circuit, one may see 
The outstretched land, the boundless sea. 

As here I stand and rest awhile, 

Before I further go, 
I see the road for many a mile 

Winding along below, 
By which I've reached this lofty place, 
And distanced thousands in the race. 

At first, my Mother, scorning rest. 
Watched me by night and day; 

In arms of love, upon her breast, 
She bore me on the way 

Which wound along through shady bowers, 

Adorned and perfumed by the flowers. 

-75 — 



And then my Father's stronger hand, 

When I could walk and run, 
Grasped mine, and taught me to withstand 

The cold, the rain, the sun; 
And hardened me, that I might bear, 
Bravely, what ills might be my share. 

Then troops of youthful friends drew nigh, 

Who welcomed me with joy. 
To share their sports and games, and try 

How I might best employ 
My growing powers of mind and will, 
And show my genius or my skill. 

Next, o'er a long and narrow road, 

The pedagogue as guide, 

I chafed and fumed, and always showed 

More love for Nature wide, 
t'or, in the school too oft the mind. 
As in a prison is confined. 

Even in college, little men 

Obscured large realms of thought. 

Left subjects far beyond their ken, 
Inadequately taught; 

Or waiting minds quite failed to reach. 

Because they knew not how to teach. 



A steeper road, a jostling crowd, 

Who with each other cope; 
Young men and maidens sing aloud. 

Their faces flushed with hope. 
They strive to show that they are free. 
And know the use of liberty. 

In such a crowd I found my place ; 

Gave precedence to none ; 
Felt able to keep up the pace, 

By which the heights were won ; 
Strode gaily forward, free from care, 
And built my castles in the air. 

FilPd with day-dreams, which brighter grew 
When maidens passed my way, 

All nature took a roseate hue, 
Under the charmers' sway. 

I gathered flowers, I sang, I danced. 

By female loveliness entranced. 

Then fate, more powerful than mind, 

Fixed destiny for life; 
Congenial souls each other find; 

Rare maid becomes my wife; 
Sure of a future ever bright. 
Illumed and blest by love's soft light. 

— 17- 



Oh joy ! the quest is at an end, 

As heart responds to heart; 
Happy I gain the life-long friend, 

I find my better part. 
For life in fullness we aspire; 
Hand clasped in hand we struggle higher. 

And now behold a table-land. 
Which a wise culture showed, 

With pleasant fields on either hand, 
And a long, level road. 

The dreams of youth may disappear; 

Small place for much illusion here. 

We travel forwards with good heart, 

Though many cares arise; 
Each tries to bear the other's part. 

While love beams from the eyes. 
To brighten every trying hour. 
Oh ! Love ! how magical thy power ! 

And children come, our lot to grace. 

With innocence and smiles; 
And, though they cause a slower pace, 

Their sport the way beguiles. 
Life's sombre cares refuse to stay, 
Where lively children run and play. 

-78- 



Were wife and children e'er forgot, 

Amid the surging throng? 
Ambition's voice was heeded not, 

Nor heard the sirens' song; 
So, pit-fall, chasm, dread abyss. 
Failed to engulf domestic bliss. 

The children grow, and in their turn, 

Most eagerly embrace. 
The first fair chance they can discern, 

For independent place; 
By various paths, they march along. 
Their' courage high, their sinews strong. 

The road now bends towards the north; 

The wind is cold and keen; 
Mountains, snow-capped, stand grandly forth; 

Deep valleys lie between. 
Through a dark gorge our hard way winds. 
While painful thoughts oppress our minds. 

The gentle wife is ill ; her strength 

Scarce answers for the day; 
We struggle onwards, but at length 

Must stop upon our way. 
In spite of prayers, and groans, and sighs, — 
One final kiss, — my loved one dies. 

-79- 



Where now the hope of Hfe-long Hght? 

Where now my heart's best friend? 
My gray hair blanches into white ; 

Oh ! let this journey end ! 
Children and friends would comfort me ; 
'Tis vain, — I know my destiny. 

While tears were falling from my eyes, 

And I could scarcely stand, 
A comforter, supremely wise, 

Stretched forth a helping hand. 
Love, wounded, loses self-control; 
Philosophy sustains the soul. 

Slowly at first, with labored breath, 

My thoughts as in a dream, 
I pass beyond that gorge of death, 

Where silence reigns supreme; 
When suddenly again appear 
Those snow-capped peaks in sunlight clear. 

The mountain-range trends to the west. 

Ends at the ocean wide ; 
My future road,— I think 'twas best, — 

Along the mountain side. 
Round jutting crag, and swelling hill, 

Mounted, and ever mounted still. 

-80- 



With staff in hand, upward I climb, 

The winding road pursue, 
And thus I reach, from time to time, 

Still higher points of view ; 
Whence retrospective thoughts I cast, 
Upon the errors of my past. 

Through childhood, youth, and manhood's years, 

I thought I was so free; 
But now, most clearly it appears, 

That could not really be; 
1 was but part of one great whole. 
My slightest breath in stern control. 

If this be true, I do not care. 

Upon the past to dwell ; 
'Tis gone; I have no time to spare; 

I know it but too well. 
The living present on our hands, 
Its duties all our strength demands. 

Nature, — impassive she appears, — 

Her mood relentless seems ; 
Man's hopes, his wishes, and his fears, 

Are like to useless dreams. 
Which, for the time, and while we feel, 
Impress our minds as if they're real. 

-8i- 



So, after climbing, some new steep, 

I take the wished- for rest; 
If things go wrong, I do not weep, 

I will not be be depressed; 
But, supine on the grass I lie. 
And watch the clouds go sailing by. 

Up to this time, the spacious scene. 

Spread out before my eyes. 
Deep valley, plain, and grove, and stream, 

And clouds, and changing skies. 
While beautiful, still failed for me. 
By lack of contrast with the sea. 

From yonder promontory high. 

My road turns to the right. 
It stands out boldly 'gainst the sky, 

'Twill give the wished-for sight. 
From that high spot, the ocean vast 
Must o'er the view its grandeur cast. 

At last, arrived ! — before me lies 

An expanse without bound; 
High in the air an eagle flies; 

Below the waves resound ; 
Dread ocean, thou ! Oh ! mighty sea ! 
Fit emblem of eternity. 



EIN LEBENSLAUF. 
Von. Prof. E. Emerson. 

Aus dem Englischen iibersetzt von Herrn Friedrich Vogl, Stabs- 

Auditeur der k. Commandantur der Hauptund 

Residenztadt Miinchen. 

Hier stehe ich, ein rastlos Wand'rer, 

Auf hoher Wart, wie fern wohl noch vom Ziel ? 
Dem zugesteuert wohl manch and'rer, 

Eh' ihm die Kraft versiegt und ernster Will, 
Und ruhig schau ich von des Berges Hoh' 
Das weite Land, die endlos feme See. 

Und schau zuriick ich die gewundnen Pfade, 
Die tausend Meilen mich hieher gefiihrt, 

Derweilen auf der Zeiten Fliigelrade, 

Ich tausend der Genossen iiberschwirrt, 

Dann gonnet mir, dem altersmiiden Gast, 

Der siissen Ruhe kurz bemess'ne Rast. 

O Mutter! Zaubermelodien 

Weckst Du im Herzen, Tone traut und sacht! 
Ich seh im Geist voriiberziehen 

Dein Lieben, Sorgen, Tag und Nacht. 
Ein blumenduftend Garten, sel'ges Land' 
War's, wo mich fiihrte treue Mutter hand. 

-83- 



Bis dass des Vaters weises Walten 

Dem Ernst des Lebens mich entgegenf iihrt ; 

Mag's heiter, mag sich's triib gestalten, 
Sein Wechsel Hess den Jiingling unberiihrt ; 

So lernt ich Regen, Schnee und Sonnenblick 

Ertragen, Erdenleid und Erdengliick. 

Und in dem Kreise der Gespielen 

Bracht man den Willkomm mir, dem frischen Gast, 
Da tummelt sich's, wie junge Fiillen, 

Auf weitem Heideplan ohn' Ruh und Rast ; 
So iibt im Jugendspiel sich Geist und Kraft, 
Auf dass der Mann im Leben Grosses schafft. 

Eng war der Pfad, auf den gebunden 
Den Straubenden der Padagoge schleift, 

Derweil mein Sinnen unumwunden 

In der Natur erhab'nen Tempel schweift, 

So glich die Schul mir ein Gefangnissraum, 

In der verkiimmerte der Jugendtraum. 

Selbst des Collegiums hehre Hallen 

Beengen oft des freien Geistes Zug, 
Lasst die Gedanken endlos wallen, 

Nichts hemm' dem Geist den hohen Geisterflug. 
Reicht Lehrerwissen nicht sum Ziele aus, 
Je nun, so baut aus eigner Kraft das Haus. 

-84- 



Und weiter fiihren neue Pfade, 

Ein Drangen, Kampfen urn's erstrebte Ziel; 
Der Jiinglinge und Madchen Wettballade, 

Ein hoffnungsreiches, sel'ges Minnespiel. 
Der Freiheit Gottin weihn sie den Altar, 
Der Freiheit bringen frei sie Opfer dar. 



Hier fiihlt ich mich und ohne Zaudern, Zagen 
Trat kiihn ich in den Mitbewerb der Kraft ; 

Mein muss der Preis sein sender Fragen, 
Die Hohe, so die Herrschaft schafft. 

So strebt ich heiter vorwarts, kummerlos, 

In luft'gen Spharen baute ich mein Schloss. 



Ein Zaubergarten war's, wo traumend 
Natur mir Rosen streute, Jungfrau'n hold 

Den Weg mir kreutzen, Liebe keimend 
Stellt sich das freie Herz in Liebe-Sold. 

Ich pfliickte Blumen, tanzte, sang entziickt, 

Wo Liebende mit Lieb vergalten; 
Es bliihte auf mir ungeahntes Gliick. 

O Zukunft ! Voll der Rosen, voll von Licht, 

Wenn aus dem Aug' der Theuersten die Liebe spricht ! 

-85- 



Der Tag des Glucks er war gekommen, 
Mein nannte ich den lebenslangen Freund, 

Und Hand in Hand den Gipfel wii: erklommen, 
Von dem die Lebenssonne warmend scheint. 

So zogen wir, nach aufwarts unsern Blick, 

Den Pfad dahin, vertrauend dem Geschick. 

Doch abseits, rechts und links vom Stege, 

Gab's Land zu bauen, Feld fur reiche Frucht, 

Und gliicklich, wer sie zog die Wege, 

Und der Veredlung Saat zu pflanzen sucht. 

Wo ernste Arbeit winkt und Schaffens Lohn, 

Wie schwindet da der Jugend Illusion! 

Und immer vorwarts geht die Reise, 
Getheilte Freude und getheiltes Leid, 

Getheilte Kost, getheilte Preise, 

Nur eine Last, die trugen wir zu zweit. 

Und ob es donnert, blitzt, der Himmel lacht, 

Wir trugen Alles durch der Liebe Macht. 

Es hemmt der Kinder Ruf die Schritte ; 

Vom Himmel uns gesandt das sterblich Loos 
Verschonend, strahlt in unsrer Mitte 

Der Unschuld siisses Lacheln und Gekos. 
Wo frohlich tummelt froher Kinder Schaar, 

Da wird der Eltern Gliick erst vol! und wahr. 

— 86 — 



Nichtden verlockenden Syrenen, 

Der wogend Menge wunderlicher Kraft, 

Nichtdes Ehrgeizes blinden Planen 
Erlieg' des Mannes Kraft erschlafft, 

Fiir Weib und Kind, des Hatises Gliick und Frieden, 

Gibts fur den Mann kein hoh'res Gliick hienieden. 

Es reift die Frucht, und wie die Vater sungen, 
Des Liedes Sang, wer kann ihm widerstehn? 

Es regt und riistet sich so bei den Jungen, 
Auf eignem Fuss verlangt es sie zu stehn. 

So treibt es in die Welt den jungen Mann, 

Zu priifen, was er thun und wagen kann. 

Es dunkelt sich die Wolke, Klippen 

Und Schluchten, Eis und Schnee und kalter Wind, 
Und Berge, himmelhohe Felsenrippen, 

Sie hemmen drauend mich und Weib und Kind. 
So ziehn wir bin das dunkle Labyrinth, 
Triib wie der Himmel unsre Seelen sind. 

Es krankt das Weib, noch wenig Stunden; 

Was hilft das Strauben, wenn die Macht gebricht ? 
Ein Kuss, der letzte, und entschwunden 

Das Gliick — gebrochen ist der Augen Licht ! 
Nicht beten, bitten, nichtder Thranen Lauf 
Halt des ergrimmten Schicksals Urtheil auf. 

-87- 



Was bleibt mir kiinftig noch zu hoffen? 

Wo ist er, meines Herzens bester Freund? 
Wo ist der Himmel nun, der eh'dem offen, 

An dem die Sonne nimmer scheint ? 
Es bleicht das Haar, nichts frommt mir Trostes Wort, 
Ich kenn mein herbes Schicksal, — sie ist fort ! 

Wohl schwankt das Menschenherz, das schwache, 
Und unterliegend fliesst der Thranen Flut, 

Und rettungslos daucht uns die eig'ne Sache, 
Da leuchtet uns ein edles Gut. 

Schon beugt das Sein das schwache Knie, 

Doch rettend winket uns Philosophic! 

Behutsam, traumend, zweifelnd, tastend, 
Des Todes Schlund vermessend, athemlos, 

So dring ich vorwarts langsam, rastend, 
Der ew'gen Schweigensherrschaft los : 

Da endHch find ich wieder mich am Plan, 

Im Sonnenlicht steigt hell der Gipfel an. 

Nach Westen zieht die Bergeskette, 

Wo steil sie abwarts fiallt zum Ocean, 
Ich geize nicht mehr nach der Statte, 

Die gipfelstiirmend fiahrt bergan. 
Doch hoher, immer hoher fiihrt gerad 
Dem Ziele zu, der vielgewundne Pfad. 



So strebe ich, den Stab in Handen, 

Nur immer aufwarts klimmend, schweigsam, still, 
Ein Mai muss ja die Wandrung enden, 

Und immer naher komm ich meinem Ziel. 
Doch von der hohen Wart, auf der ich steh, 
Ich der Vergangenheit Verirrung seh. 

Durch Kindheit, — Jugend, — Mannesjahre 

Daucht ich mich schrankenlos und frei zu sein, 

Jetzt f lihl die Kenntniss ich die wahre, 
Dass all mein Meinen eitel Schein. 

Als Theil kenn ich mich von dem Ganzen an, 

Von dem nicht ein Atom sich frei bewegen kann. 

Was kiimmern mich vergangne Zeiten? 

Die Gegenwart erfiillt den ganzen Raum. 
Es bleibe in Vergangenheiten, 

Was hinter uns ; ich denk nicht mehr daran. 
Ich weiss es wohl, nur kurz mehr ist die Frist, 
Die mir zu schaffen noch vergonnet ist. 

Natur, unthatig nach dem Scheine 

Und rucksichtslos scheint ihre ganze Art; 

Der Menschen Hoffnung, Wunsch und Furcht alleine, 
Wir traumen nur auf unsrer Pilgerfahrt, 

Und Alles was uns wirklich scheint im Plug, 

Nur Tauschung ist's des Geistes, eitel Trug. 



Noch wenig Stufen und ich linde 
Mich niederlassend die ersehnte Ruh. 

Kommt neues Unheil, ich verwinde 

Den Schmerz, der Thranen P forte schliess ich zu. 

Aufs Gras leg miide ich die Glieder hin, 

Und seh die Wolken iiber mich voruberzieh'n. 

Schon schau ich vor mir ausgebreitet 

Den ungemessnen Raum, und was erfreut 

Das Aug, den Strom, der meerwarts gleitet, 
Und was uns die Natur an Schonheit beut. 

Doch Sehnen fasst mich, ein unnennbar Weh, 

Vergleich ich mit dem Schonsten selbst die See. 

Schon winkt das Vorgebirg, die Ecke 

Rechts um die H' gelkette zeigt das Land, 

Wo endlich, endUch meine Wanderstrecke 
Ziel und Erlosung von dem Pilgern fand. 

Von diesem Hochplatz staun ich selig an 

Den unermesslich breiten Ocean. 

Hier leuchtet mir das Ziel, es wogen 

Des Meeres Fluten ohne Rast, 
Und driiber hin, da kommt gezogen 

Ein Adler stolz, der Liifte kiihner Cast. 
O macht'ges Meer, wie wogst du endlos weit, 
Du Spiegelbildniss der Allewigkeit! 

— 90 — . 



REFLECTIONS ON LIFE, 

WHEN REACHING THE ALTITUDE OF SEVENTY- 
FIVE YEARS. 

July 2, i82j-i8p8. 

Now that another height is gained, 
The scene still grander grows, 

While a fair pace has been maintained, 
And thought some progress shows; 

Life's lessons well may grow more clear, 

As the sure end draws slowly near. 

So, as I rest and gaze around. 

On mountains capped with snow, 

And listen to the surge resound 
From the chafed rocks below. 

The setting sun, in glory bright, 

Floods the whole sky with mellow light. 

At this great height, in this pure air, 

Far from the busy mart. 
Freed from the usual load of care. 

Alone with my own heart, — 
Life, in its general aspect, lies 
Mapped out before my spirit's eyes. 



Little by little, busy man 

Builds systems, empires, codes; 

Then slowly modifies the plan, 
Changing with changing modes ; 

But, largely viewed, all through the past, 

The rate of progress was not fast. 

Change is the law of human things, 
Of worlds beyond our skies; 

All, either this or that way swings, 
As time's course onward flies; 

Whether by losses or by gains. 

Nothing immutable remains. 

In one short life we cannot prove 

A real advance is made; 
What to us forwards seems to move, 

Perhaps is retrograde; 
What promises extended sway, 
May be the germs of sure decay. 

Remembering well my youthful fire, 

My eager wish to see 
Mankind make progress, and aspire 

To a large liberty, — 
I sigh, now I have learned how slow, 
In human things we onward go. 

-92 — 



The world contains so many poor, 
It fills the heart with pain; 

Most eagerly we seek a cure; — 
Can loss be changed to gain? 

Suppose we constitute, though late, 

A new, and happy, social State? 

What if 'twere so that each free man 

Might follow his ideal? 
If his own life grew from a plan, 

'T would help the commonweal: 
Were all the units brave and true. 
Good social life might well ensue. 

Or, if the common life were good, 
Well-reasoned, clear and just. 

Each small part in the brotherhod 
Would ratify the trust; 

And thus reciprocally each 

To all a high ideal teach. 

Thus working, each in his own sphere. 

Respecting mutual right. 
The course of progress would be clear. 

All burdens be but light ; 
The noble nation, the most free, 
And noble men her bulwark be. 

-93- 



A dream of youth; it was unwise; 

Enthusiasts are aflame; 
The crowd cannot be forced to rise, 

Nor moves for praise or blame; 
Man must be happy his own way; 
And as he lists will work or play. 

Sometimes the world, with rapid pace, 

Moves on at any cost; 
At other times, swings back in space. 

And what's been gained is lost; 
But, on the whole, the mass stands still 
And for real progress lacks the will. 

Through mental force we realize 

The actual state of things ; 
Imagination makes us wise. 

Poetic insight brings; 
The stolid, common, inert mind. 
Dwelling midst marvels, still is blind. 

Systems and schools, to their disgrace, 

Oft prove as fetters strong. 
Chaining the mind to commonplace. 

Effecting untold wrong; 
While, shutting out the light of heaven, 
Instead of bread, a stone is given. 

-94- 



For any soul how sad the fate, 

To be so falsely trained, 
That error seems to compensate, 

When truth should be maintained; 
Throughout the life no instant free 
The plain reality to see. 

And in the State how pained was I, 

To see things go astray; 
Small men advanced to seats on high, 

A sure mark of decay ; 
When so-called statesmen sold their trust, 
For place, or gold ; or worse, for lust. 

'Tis character will do the mog§ 

Our fellow-men to raise; 
The great man is himself a host, 

On him we fix our gaze; 
His influence stimulates each soul. 
And thus he sways the complex whole. 

Whence comes the great man's godlike gift, 

Of health, of brain, of life? 
By which he shows his power to lift 

The world in mortal strife? 
Why does his character impress. 
Or guarantee a sure success ? 

-95- 



Far in the past we trace his rise, 

And mark the human chain, 
Transmitting in a novel guise. 

Its own peculiar gain; 
Until, at last, in course of years. 
The man of destiny appears. 

Then for the world, which seems to wait, 

The fitting time arrives; 
'Twas written in the book of fate. 

The matchless hero strives; 
Or he, to whom all things belong, 
The poet, sings his deathless song. 

The peo|^e, then, if rightly led. 

By men of noble mould. 
Will have no cause their foes to dread; 

No birthright will be sold; 
But, when vile demagogues can lead, 
What power shall save the State in need ? 

Words, — words, — how potent is their charm 

To lull the moral sense ; 
Lest the weak conscience take alarm, 

'Tis drugged by mere pretense ; 
Thus, evil clothed in robes of light, 
Becomes transcendent to the sight. 

-96- 



But few are skilled to look within, 

And scrutinize the thought ; 
To check the feelings, lest they sin, 

Before the deed is wrought; 
For actions never would transpire, 
If motives failed to feed the fire. 

And, as with persons, so far more 
With nations, tribes or race; 

The golden calf they can adore. 
The godlike form debase. 

Though Sinai speak in thunder-tone, 

The people's instincts are their own. 

High-sounding phrase, the bloody deed, 

The passionate appeal. 
The crazy fervor help to feed, 

While hearts grow hard as steel ; 
And, worse than all, Religion's priests 
Help on the fray, and bless the feasts. 

Wave, wave the flag! Let trumpets blow! 

Bring forth your dearest sons! 
Pour countless hosts upon the foe! 

Besiege with monster guns ! 
Bellona screams, unsheaths her sword! 
Millions for her we must accord ! 

-97- 



The Christian faith; the arts of peace; 

The Fathers' well-laid plan; 
The fertile fields, whose gifts increase ; 

The priceless rights of man; 
All this, Columbia! too free! 
Is not enough. Alas ! for thee ! 

Oh ! man ! placed mid the clustering suns I 
Mere speck, a gleam, a trace; — 

Thy doom the fool reads as he runs, — 
"Thou livest a moment's space." 

Man, empires, all things, seem to be 

Faint ripples on a boundless sea. 



While on a mossy bank I sit. 

Slowly the western skies. 
By heavenly beams superbly lit, 

Display before my eyes. 
Mountains of clouds, like burnish'd gold, 
A gorgeous wonder to behold. 

But, as I rest, still lingering here, 

The pageant fades away; 
How bright the end, as night draws near, 

Of the long, busy day! 
So may I calmly reach life's close, 
And gain well-merited repose. 

-98- 



IN ST. PATRICK'S CATHEDRAL, AT DUBLIN. 

The deepHtoned organ breathes a solemn strain, 
And softened echoes through high arches wind; 
Religion, here, to ev'ry anxious mind, 

Presents her perfect cure for sin's dread stain. 

Within this gothic, monumental fane, 

Around the walls, in honor's wreaths entwined, 
The tombs of Ireland's worthiest we find, 

Who here, remembrance, well-deserved, attain. 

Great God ! the contrast just across the street, 
Where degradation's vilest scenes abound. 

And ruin deep engulfs man, wife, and child. 

Oh ! haste sweet Charity, with steps more fleet ; 
Apply with skill the balm true love has found; 
So, heaven with earth, at last, be reconciled. 
LofC. 



— 99 



AN OPTIMIST. 



Full early on a genial morn, 

A goodly man-child, I was born. 

Fine health kind heaven on me bestowed; 

My infant days with bliss o'erflowed. 



Delights increased with passing years, 
Made more intense by short-lived tears; 
Each new experience brought new joy. 
To me, a cheerful-hearted boy. 



By youth's hopes led, how much I sought ! 
Of course, mere day-dreams came to naught; 
Yet, one great treasure I possessed, — 
A happy heart within my breast. 



When manhod came, a sunny life 
Blest me, my children, and my wife; 
The so-called, carking cares, the while, 
Were wisely treated with a smile. 



And now, behold! the western skies 
Surpass in splendor the sun's rise! 
So, my old age, triumphant, shows 
Life's joys increase until its close! 



And when, at last, Death comes to me, 
I fain would greet him pleasantly; 
Nor do I wish my friends to weep, 
When, gently, I shall drop asleep. 



SKETCH OF A PHILOSOPHY. 

In the boundless aether-sea, 
With no pre-determined goal, 

'Mid uncounted nebulae, 
Suns and systems ever roll. 

Motion an inherent power. 
Now a rise and now a fall. 

Seen alike in globe and flower; 
Change is written over all. 

Energy eternal reigns. 

Where life is and where life fails; 
Splendid cosmos it sustains; 

For all forms of force avails. 

Matter — spirit — abstract terms, 
Which no entity involve; 

All experience confirms 

Concrete wholes the riddle solve. 

Matter pushed to an extreme. 
Dissipates in spirit-guise; 

Spirit, struggling to be seen, 
Always must materialize. 



Form, as thought, is absolute, 

Pure in spiritual youth; 
Form, to things, we must impute, 

To obtain essential truth. 

When mere matter sublimates, 
Form persists within the mind; 

Which, then, beauty contemplates, 
Transcendentally refined. 

Latent life at once appears. 

When conditions fit arise; 
Changing forms through countless years, 

As the out-worn slowly dies. 

Life, with all its joy and pain, — 
Plasmic cell contains the plan, — 

Pulses through its protean chain; 
Grandly culminates in man. 

Man is one; and deep below 

Thought and feeling's conscious train, 
Occult springs of action flow 

Through the maze of nerves and brain. 

— 103- 



Man is free t' exert his will; 

Little is by this expressed; 
Cause of will is deeper still, 

Subtly it eludes our quest. 

Man may live his busy day, 

Mind aglow with brightest thought, 
Quickly all must fade away. 

Grand creations sink to naught. 

Verdant earth and burning sun 

Evanescent as a dream; 
Man, and all that man has done, 

But a ripple on a stream. 

An inexorable law. 

Nature's ever-working force, 
Pressing onwards without flaw. 

Rules all in its steady course. 

Morals out of customs grow; 

Customs seek to keep the gain, — 
Prudence long has found to flow, — 

From a conduct fit and sane. 
— 104 — 



Morals rest upon the base 

Of the actual state of things; 

That is right, in any case, 

From which only goodness springs. 

True religion, undefiled, 

Is the aspiration high; 
Life to live most reconciled 

To all truth we may descry. 

With conception clear and vast 

Of the universe we see, 
Religion, freed from errors past, 

Promises felicity. 

So, while time and thought are ours, 

We acquire self-control. 
To unfold our varied powers 

In accordance with the Whole. 

If, too blinded we pretend, 
T' expel nature in a strife,- — 

Folly! it can only end 
In sad forfeiture of life. 

- 105 - 



Yield ! stern destiny obey ! 

Take from nature's hand the prize ! 
Fill with life each passing day! 

This the wisdom of the wise! 



io6 



CREEDS. 

Long years I've spent in study over creeds; 

Perplexed by questions deep beyond reply; 

Now tempted to affirm, now to deny; 
Sad paralyzing influence on good deeds. 

What joy to follow where calm nature leads, 
And roam in woods or fields which round us lie, 
To gather flowers, or behold the sky, 

And thence invoke that peace the spirit needs. 

All nature speaks to man with tranquil voice; 
He, too, her child, is nurtured on her breast; 
She shows, full oft, for him a smiling face. 

But not alone for him. The fields rejoice. 

Birds sing, sun shines, vexed ocean sinks to rest, 
Bright stars roll on in the vast sea of space. 



107 — 



AT HARROW. 

From Harrow's Hill I view the landscape o'er; 
Although the sun sheds bright, meridian rays, 
The spacious scene is veiled by a soft haze ; 

A lovely view ; need poet ask for more ! 

Here the historic church with Norman door, 

A fitting structure for man's prayer and praise; 
Within, quaint mural brasses from past days; 

Aloft, two tatter' d flags repose from war. 

Here, in this church-yard, Byron wished his grave, 
Unmarked by signs of pride from sculptor's hand, 
Remembered only by the friends most dear. 

And here, my gentle friend, pure, true, and brave, 
Sleeps her last sleep far from her native land ; 
While I bedew her grave with friendship's tear. 



-io8- 



THE BUTTERFLY. 

See yonder butterfly with gorgeous wing ! 

It flutters, fl-oats, or favors a sweet flower ; 

Lives gaily its bright Hfe, which lasts an hour; 
'Tis Psyche's own, scarce a material thing. 

Those airy flittings a remembrance bring 

Of youthful days, when such rare beauty's power, 
Led me on fevered chase from bower to bower ; 

Caught, crushed, — its ruin my sad heart did wring. 

As frosts of age have settled on my brow. 
Sedate, I muse on childhood's eager quest; 
And yet, desires as vain invade my breast. 

In form, alas, they differ greatly now; 
The guise is coarser, deeper the unrest; 

The fancied prize, if gain'd, finds me unblest. 



log- 



A RETROSPECT. 

An old cottage, low built, by a stream in the vale, . 

Was attractive to me when my heart was still young ; 
In the evenings my steps led me there without fail, 

And I sat on the porch by the sweet vines o'erhung. 

The grave father and mother were kind when I came; 

But the fair, only daughter, was coy and demure; 
Yet I flattered myself that I hid my heart's flame; 

And I thought that, with patience, my quest might be sure. 

After parting, full oft, I retraced my long way ; 

Saw the light, through her window, was still gleaming bright ; 
Then my voice loudly carroled a well-known roundelay; 

And elated, I vanished, concealed by the night. 

But at length, as it chanced, I decided my fate ; 

I had waited, impatient, to find her alone ; 
Then I flared forth most ardent ; but she was sedate, 

As she promised, then gave me her hand as my own. 

We were married in June; she had chosen the time; 

Oh ! how happy we were, to each other most dear ! 
For we dwelt, fill'd with peace, in a heavenly clime; 

By the present enchanted; the future most clear. 



But, full many a year has rolled darkly since then ; 

It is just like a dream ; for I'm now worn and old ; 
It is long since her form has been seen among men ; 

Ever youthful she sleeps ; ever silent and cold. 

As I dwell on those days, and consider the past ; 

What a mockery life seems to be for the heart ! 
We are happy awhile; but our joy does not last; 

We may meet, and we love ; alas ! then- — we must part. 



THE CLERK ACROSS THE WAY. 



Yes, I'm the little chamber-maid, 
And I am bright and gay, 

For there is one who loves me well, 
He lives across the way. 

He told me that he loved me well. 
The clerk across the way. 



And when he told me of his love, 

I could not help but say. 
Oh ! J'm so glad ! for I love you, 

Let's name the happy day; 
But he looked grave, and said nay, nay, 

That clerk across the way. 



So then I pouted and shed tears. 
But he explained that they 

Had promised him, if he did well, 
To raise quite soon his pay ; 

And then he kissed me tenderly. 
The clerk across the way. 



And so, I brightened up and asked 

How long we must delay ? 
He said he thought 'twould be three months, 

Until the month of May; 
I sighed, but saw that he was right, 

My clerk across the way. 

So, though before I could not save, 

Against a rainy day, 
I've now enough to buy my dress, 

Gloves, slippers and bouquet; 
Oh! he will wonder how 't was done! 

My clerk across the way. 

The other girls are envious, 

Some spiteful things they say; 
I do not mind them in the least, 

I look across the way. 
And there I see that handsome man, 

The clerk across the way. 

And I intend to ask them all 

To see the fine display. 
When we are married in the church. 

Upon the wedding day; 
He'll take me then, in bride's array, 

My clerk across the way. 

-113- 



And when we're married, then will come 

The question of the day, 
Which one of us will "rule the roast?" 

The family sceptre sway? 
Oh! I'll rule him, — I'll rule by love, 

My clerk across the way. 



— 114 — 



CHAGRIN. 

Before this marble's chiselled power and grace, 
So masterly conceived, so finely wrought, 
I stand as spell-bound by the artist's thought; 

I sigh at last, and slowly leave the place. 

On glowing canvas oft I love to trace, 

The skill by which the painter fitly sought 
To fix the fleeting mood, with feeling fraught. 

And thus I gaze, while grief steals o'er my face. 

Whene'er I listen to symphonic strain. 
The music lifts me to sublimest height; 
My inmost being thrills with strange delight. 

But, as it wafts me on, I feel sharp pain. 

Oh! fate, how sad! No work of mine will stand 
Time's rigid test. My name is writ in sand. 



115 



SEI STILL MEIN HERZ. 



Ich wahrte die Hoffnung tief in der Brust, 

Die sich ihr vertrauend erschlossen, 

Mir strahlten die Augen voll Lebenslust, 

Wenn mich ihre Zauber umflossen, 

Wenn ich ihrer schmeichelnden Stimme gelauscht- 

Im Wetterstrum ist ihr Echo verrauscht ; 

Sei still, mein Herz, und denke nicht dran, 

Das ist nun die Wahrheit, das And're war Wahn. 



Die Erde lag vor mir im Friihlingstraum, 

Den Licht und Warme durchgliihtCs 

Und wonnetrunken durchwallt' ich den Raum; 

Der Brust entsprosste die Bliithe, 

Der Liebe Lenz war in mir erwacht, — 

Mich durchrieselt Frost, in der Seele ist Nacht. 

Seil still, mein Herz, und denke nicht dran. 

Das ist nun die Wahrheit, das And're war Wahn. 



-ii6- 



Ich baute von Blumen und Sonnenglanz 
Eine Briicke mir durch das Leben, 
Auf der ich wandelnd im Lorbeerkranz 
Mich geweiht dem hochedelsten Streben; 
Der Menschen Dank war mein schonster Lohn, — 
Laut auf lacht die Menge mit frechem Hohn. 
Sei still, mein Herz, und denke nicht dran, 
Das ist nun die Wahrheit, das And're war Wahn. 

— Emanuel Geihel, 



"7 — 



BE STILL MY HEART. 



I cherished fond hope so deep in my breast; 

I loved her sincerely, and trusted her well ; 
My eyes beamed with joy, and my love I confessed ; 

Most weakly I gave myself up to her spell. 
But, as I recounted her flatteries o'er; 

Lo! passion's wild storm, and hate's lurid gleam, 
Be still, my sad heart, muse on it no more ; 

This now is the real, that other a dream. 



Th' earth lay before me in earliest spring; 

Mild warmth was diffused, light over all danced; 
As I wandered along I was ready to sing, 

My breast heaved with bliss, my soul was entranced; 
On love's rainbow wings my fancy would soar. 

Now frost chills my soul, quite hopeless I seem. 
Be still, my sad heart, dwell on it no more ; 

This now is the real, that other a dream. 

-Il8- 



A fairy-like bridge of stmshine and flowers, 

I built for myself, my passage through life; 
On it, poet-crowned, I sang love's bright hours, 

Wearing the laurel, despising mean strife; 
On banners aloft, my friends my name bore. 

The crowd in scorn laugh, contempt loudly scream. 
Be still my sad heart, do not think of it more ; 

This now is the real, that other a dream. 

— Translated from Emanuel Geihel. 



— 119 — 



LOVE. 

At last I know thee, Love, and what thou art; 

At first, the timid glance, the gentle sigh ; 

And sweetest nothings, which so much imply; 
Then eye to eye, and throbbing heart to heart. 

Of thy distresses I have had my part ; 

Strange fears assuming shapes that may not die; 

And vain appeals to motives the most high ; 
And garnered wealth bestowed for nameless smart. 

Love ! thou art boundless ! that I know full well ! 

Outlasting all the hopes that gave thee birth; 

Enduring all the slights and shames of earth ; 
Thy woes too great for human tongue to tell. 

Yet, spite of fears, and dread, and loss, and pain, 
Life wanting thee would be to live in vain. 



THE WAVES. 

Upon the shore, in childhood's careless day, 
I built my petty fortresses of sand, 
Unmindful of the ruin near at hand; 

Too soon the rising wave washed all away. 

Along the shore a maiden once did stray; 

I followed, gently drawn by love's strong band, 
And fondly wrote her name upon the strand; 

Which the cold tide effaced with short delay. 

If later, in life's soberer affairs, 

I built myself some fancied fortress high, 
Or by rare token thought love could not die ; 

All sank at last, submerged by surging cares. 

Man's works are doomed; all shall be as before; 
Naught but sad waves on a resounding shore. 



ON THE BIRTHDAY OF M. L. E., NOV. 30. 

My Love ! when first I dared to think of thee, 
My heart was young, my life before' me lay, 
I had no fears, and labor seemed but play; 

Of one thing I was sure, — felicity. 

And so it proved ; what bliss for thee and me ! 
Though cares accumulated day by day, 
'Twas not in outward things to take away 

That inward peace which made our spirits free. 

And thus we lived and dream'd, and years rolled on ; 

Our boundless happiness could never end; 

'Twas like the air, the ocean, or the sky ! 
But, thou art dead; and all is past and gone; 

I linger still, bereft of thee, sweet friend! 
And wait impatiently my time to die. 



LIFE'S MYSTERIES. 

Each has his own horizon. The unknown, 
Of infinite extent, excites to thought 
Or random guess, with disappointment fraught ; 

We yearn for bread, stern nature gives a stone. 

Thick clouds and dark across our view are thrown ; 
The wisest by experience is taught, 
No matter what enHghtenment he sought, 

How few, small grains of knowledge are his own. 

Let us, then, turn and study our own mind, 

And count the pulses of our beating heart. 

Oft probe our motives lest we basely sin; 

For fear an equal mystery we find 
In hidden self; and at the last depart. 

Not knowing worlds without, nor worlds within. 



-123 — 



THE STONE AGE. 

O'er this old earth ages and ages sped, 

And left strange tokens of their course to tell ; 
Late came crude man, constrained in caves to dwell; 

Who, toiling, chipped the flinty arrow-head. 

Then birds and beasts from the bold slayer fled ; 

Those who dared fight, by the horn-dagger fell; 

From his own haunts dread danger to repel, 
The brand and flaming torch their terror spread. 

Rude speech and song his struggling thought made known ; 
Asleep, he dreamed he saw huge, phantom foes; 
Awake, strong hunger nerved him for his prey. 

This brutish being, in the age of stone. 
Out of the beast, by work and skill, arose. 
And forced stern nature to promote his sway. 



124 



PROGRESS. 

Since man began his toilsome life on earth, 
Each generation has increased its store; 
The mind enlarging daily, more and more. 

Gave to the race new dignity and worth. 

The lessons learned at the domestic hearth; 

The wise traditions, and the treasured lore; 

Religion, and the mythic gods of yore ; 
Placed culture high among "the rights of birth." 

This is the truth to which the seer alludes, — 
"The child is born in age an hundred years;" 
Thus eaglets fan thin air and scorn the plain. 

The occult instincts, inbred aptitudes. 
And spark of genius, when it appears, 
Are in the blood, and latent in the brain. 



125- 



MY COUNTRY. 

My Country ! I had hoped to see thee great ; 

And growing greater with the march of time; 

With honor the bright path of glory climb; 
And a new epoch for mankind create. 

I longed to see thee a well-ordered state; 

Promoting virtue, and repressing crime; 

In peace, surpassing thy heroic prime; 
Free, strong and wise, and master of thy fate ! 

But, if this favored land contemn the past; 
If vulgar greed supplant the nobler aim; 
If power be used the weaker to enthral ; — 

Let withered hopes to the wild winds be cast ; 
Let History weep to write the page of shame; 
And patriot hearts deplore the nation* s fall. 



126 



THE COSMOS. 

Prolific complex of existing things, 
Forever working, as with tireless zeal, 
Regardless of what men call woe or weal, 

Thy august drama one prime lesson brings : — 

From smallest bird that in the hedgerow sings, 
From tiny motes that in the sunbeam reel, 
From microscopic forms that still can feel, 

To suns remote beyond thought's fleetest wings; 

All, through the teeming fields spread out in space, 
Where're a form or being may be found. 
Or silent, or when heralded with sound, — . 

All play their parts exactly and with grace. 
No transient pageant this, mere picture bright; 
But, living whole bathed in eternal light. 



127 



SUNRISE. 

This morning, dull and languid from my bed, 

I rose to face the cares of daily life. 

And summon resolution for the strife 
With things perverse, by evil forces led. 

Then, from the east, the early gleams of light 

Transformed the sombre clouds that hung on high; 
And heavenly colors filled the joyous sky; 

And soon, the sun itself flash'd on my sight. 

Scarce breathing for delight, I watched the play ; 

Felt each new change, so subtle, yet, so still; 

Was lifted up, as if by godlike will. 
To the calm region of eternal day. 

So nature charms the restless, human heart, 
And, at her touch, all petty cares depart. 



128 



SUNSET. 

I walk along the shore at sunset's hour; 

The tumult of the tossing waves I see ; 

They heave, they roll, they dash remorselessly, 
As if obedient to some occult power. 

And, overarching all, how grandly tower, 

High banks of dazzling clouds, fantastic, free, 
Their colors blending most harmoniously! 

While, as a background, sullen storm-clouds lower. 

Reflective, silent, let me stand and gaze. 
And feel the impress of that force sublime, 

Which rolls the waves, and paints the skies afar. 

Alas ! on land, in many ruthless ways, 

Man's baleful influence marks the course of time ; 
But, here are wide domains he cannot mar. 



— 129 — 



SUBLIMITIES. 

How pleased I am that for my natural eye, 
My hand-maid, science, has provided me 
With power to probe the deep immensity. 

Which spreads itself throughout the starry sky ! 

The scene enlarges as we gaze on high ; — 
Here law and order show their ministry, 
And silence adds to the sublimity; 

While all our small ambitions sink and die. 

What, then, is man? He is, at least, a part 
Of the one, real, transcendental whole. 

Which fills all space, and spurns the lapse of time. 

Why should we falter ? Nay, we must take heart ; 
What force in nature can surpass the soul ? 
It feels ; it thinks ; it wills ; it is sublime ! 



130- 



TIME AND SPACE. 

Can time decide when the vast depths of space 
Contained no flaming sun or satellite? 
When not a sphere, of all the hosts in sight, 

Had started yet to run its heavenly race ? 

Or, can it be, the majesty and grace. 

Of what so beautifies our earthly night, — 
Those countless orbs, dispensing life and light, 

Shall shrink to nothingness, and leave no trace? 

If a beginning, then, indeed, an end ; 

If out of nothing, then to naught the fall ; 
And space again be empty as before. 

But, thoughts like these our feeble minds transcend ; 
In vain, we on imagination call. 

If space be void, if time exist no more. 



131 



DESPONDING. 

The bitter cup, too full, becomes malign; 

Our human plans are prone to go astray; 

Bright dreams take wings, and quickly fly away ; 
And hope lies dead within the silent shrine. 

But, there are those who see in this — design ; 

Faith must be proved, as if by fire, they say; 

Fruition comes after a long delay; 
And earthly trials, rightly borne, refine. 

So, cruel smarts, and every nameless woe, 
And death itself, must cheerfully be met; 
Another world will rectify our lot. 

But, there are pangs with awful power to grow ; 
A wretched past the heart cannot forget; 
That happier realm, perhaps, existeth not. 



132- 



FLOWERS. 

In my small garden bloom the charming flowers ; 

Each, for its special grace, is prized and known ; 

True product, sprouting from a seed well-sown ; 
To thrive in sunny as in shady hours. 

When, after the warm day, the night-cloud lowers. 

Each wafts an exhalation of its own ; 

Then mingled odors on the air are thrown, 
And flood with perfume all the leafy bowers. 

Bring flowers as symbols rare and pure to show 
That innocence enhances loveliness; 

Let sight of them diminish our distress, 

And proffer solace in the midst of woe; 

For, though the grave may close o'er our lov'd friend, 
The Amaranth assures — Hope cannot end. 



-133- 



ON LEAVING MUNICH. 

Here I have dwelt beyond a score of years; 

And with this growing city I have grown; 

Its priceless treasures used as if my own; 
To leave them all, may well demand my tears. 

Here I have passed through seasons of delight ; 

Experienced, too, a very tide of woe ; 

My step alert has changed to one more slow; 
The once brown hair is now a silvery white. 

So long to dwell by Isar's rushing stream ; 

And learn to know Bavaria's sturdy race ; 

In her famed schools of thought received with grace, 
By friends, rare men, high in the world's esteem : — 

For all these benefits, deep in my heart 
Swells boundless gratitude, as I depart. 

Allgemeine Zeitung, April, 1894. 



134 



TRANSLATION. 

BY PROF. H. BRUNN, OF THE POLYTECHNIC SCHOOIv, 
IN MUNICH. 

Hier hab 'ich nun Jahrzehnte lang gewohnt 
Entwickelt hab' ich mich mit dieser Stadt, 
Genossen alP die Schatze, die sie hat — 
So dass der Abschied wohl die Thrane lohnt. 

Durchmessen hab' ich hier der Freuden Kreis, 
Darin erduldet eine Fluth von Weh, 
Mein Schritt war flink, ist trager nun wie eh', 
Das braune Haar von einst ward silberweiss. 

So lang inwohner an der Isar Strand, 

Wo Baierns Stamm in seiner Urkraft spriesst, 

In jeder Geisteswerkstatt lieb begriisst 

Von Freunden, seltnen Mannern, weltbekannt, 

Fiir all die Wohlthat quillt aus Herzensgrunde 
Mein heisser Dank jetzt, in der Scheidestunde. 



-T35- 



IN THE GARDEN OF THE LUXEMBOURG. 

In early morn, in this fair garden-ground, 
I sit and muse, by grateful silence blest. 
The tired city sleeps. No sounds infest 

The stillness of this solitude profound. 

But, as the light increases, men awake; 

The noise and hum of human life draws near; 

In haste to work, strong laborers appear ; 
While many birds their timely music make. 

A few hours later, crowds of children play. 

They run, they scream, with an exuberant life; 
And yet, although excited, no rude strife 

Disturbs the pleasant strolls of ladies gay. 

The fountains flow, the flowers scent the air. 
All ranks, all ages here are free from care. 



t36 



NOTRE DAME DE PARIS. 

Believing men, eight hundred years ago, 
Through faith in mysteries but dimly seen, 
And from devotion to their heavenly queen. 

This temple built their love and trust to show. 

The gothic lines upsoar from things below; 

The lofty towers guard well the porch between; 

The buttressed apse presents its mazy. scene; 
And Fancy's sculptured thoughts their charm bestow. 

The doors are open, and I venture in ; 

How chill the air ! no worshipper appears ; 

At length 'tis felt there was no fall from grace; 

That priests are vain to shrive a soul from sin. 
Now, faith in man brightens advancing years ; 
The living temple is the human race! 



137- 



A REMINISCENCE. 

While through my youth kind parents sought 
To train me well, to guide my thought, — 
Of life and God they urged a view. 
Which, later, proved to be untrue. 

A stern, old creed, of dogmas grim. 
Enforced by prayer, and sung in hymn. 
Poisoned too soon the fount of mirth. 
And spoiled for me both heaven and earth. 

By day, a tumult in my breast, — 
A sense of sin, — robbed me of rest ; 
At night, upon my bed I tossed, 
And dreamed myself among the lost. 

Would I do good, like Paul, of old. 
Evil was present, strong and bold; 
In the arena of my heart, 
Angels and Demons played their part. 

The raging storm, the lightning's stroke, 
Which rent in twain the sturdy oak, 
Sickness and death, the grave, the clod, 
Were tokens of an angry God. 



And yet, the sun poured forth his light, 
And gorgeous clouds entranced the sight. 
And every blossom of the field, 
Beauty and peace and hope revealed. 

Then, I reflected, — Could it be 
That man was made for misery? 
Was not beneficence the end 
To which the laws of nature tend? 

Response was given in forests wide. 
Where ever-murmuring streams replied ; 
The insect throng, the woodland dove. 
Made known life's unison with love. 

And oft, at night, I gazed on high, 
And watched the quiet, starry sky; 
And thus, at length, my anxious soul 
Grew calm through reason's sane control. 

What if some ills of life were great ! 
These science strove to mitigate. 
And even cure; for the world's pain. 
Charms, myths and amulets were vain. 

- 139 - 



Then, every day, it seemed more clear, 
Life should be joyous, thought sincere; 
That man, 'mid nature, should be free; 
The heir of all the ages he. 

Sad were those blighted days of youth, 
When superstition obscur'd truth; 
Now slowly glide the peaceful years, 
Unvexed by spiritual fears. 



140 



THE STORM. 

The rain-charged clouds scud o'er the stormy sky; 

The blust'ring wind refuses to be still; 

Strong oaks are bending to its ruthless will, 
And beast and bird before its fury fly. 

Far out at sea vast waves roll mountain-high ; 
Yet, tossing ships, manned with consummate skill, 
Use e'en this blast their mission to fulfill ; 

And trim their sails, and winds and waves defy. 

Thus, 'mid the storms of life, Oh ! thoughtful soul ! 
Undaunted keep thy chosen course in view ; 

What adverse winds may blow, compel to serve. 

So, shalt thou warring elements control; 
From day to day thy needed strength renew ; 
Nor wish from norm of rectitude to swerve. 



— 141 — 



BEAUTY AND TRUTH. 

Transforming Spirit, ruling everywhere ! 

Adorning all things by thy touch divine! 

Evoking beauty, and thus making thine. 
By simplest means, the nobler, purer, rare ! — 

What words describe thee, fairest of the fair ! 

What joy, that thou didst to my heart incline ! 

That, in true worship, I could call thee mine, 
And on my brow thy festive chaplet wear ! 

But later, as my mind still clearer grew. 

And thought had calmed my too impetuous fire, 
A kindred Spirit urged me to aspire 

To knowledge wider, permanent and true. 

The clear, deep streams of joy perennial run, 
In hearts where Truth and Beauty reign as one. 



142 — 



IMMORTALITY. 

Immortal and Eternal; in our speech, 

These words sound grandly to our human ears ; 
Applying them, a vain self-love appears. 

Creating hopes for gifts beyond man's reach. 

Events around us sterner lessons teach; 

Here all things change and fade and meet their end ; 

The strongest minds to senile weakness tend; 
Our lives make final wreck on death's lone beach. 

And who would wish, wrapt in complete repose. 
To be aroused, and forced to live again? 
If earthly memories at all remain. 

Could heaven's own bliss obliterate our woes? 

To live anew, whate'er the fancied plan. 
Would change us so that man would not be man. 



143 



CLOUDS. 

Light float the clouds in th' etherial sea; 

Their varied shapes a wonder to behold ; 

Some tinged with pink or red, and some with gold ; 
They form, at eve, the sun's rich canopy. 

In glassy lake appears once more to me 
The scene reflected from the waters cold; 
Redoubled splendor, framed by mountains old ; 

Which thrills me like a heavenly rhapsody. 

E'en as I gaze, the glory fades away; 
The chilly air recalls me from my dream; 

The sombre shades of night creep up the west. 

The dull world then resumes its potent sway. 

Bright, charming visions ! O ! how brief they seem ! 
My heart, alas, but for a moment blest. 



144 



REVERIES OF CHILDHOOD. 

Here stands the church to which I used to go 
In childhood, led by my fond mother's hand ; 
Where, listening, I failed to understand; 

The while the pealing organ thrilled me so. 

Then I was wont to let my fancies flow 

In dreams about the wondrous, heavenly land, 
Where angels strolled by a bright river's strand, 

And pitied those who dwelt on earth below. 

And oft I wondered why this world so fair, 
Whose charms were far too many to be told. 
And life so happy seemed for young and old, 

Where flowers bloomed and perfumes filled the air. 

Should show dread signs of woe, sad weeping eyes. 
And cause angelic breasts to heave with sighs. 



-145- 



AN AGED MAN'S EXPERIENCE. 

The splendid dreams of youth. 
Painted by fancy's aid, 

Now, judged by sober truth, 
Prove that bright visions fade. 

Ambition once I had; 

I would be known and great; 
My rivals called me mad; 

I failed ; I met my fate. 

A poor old man am I; 

More strength would be a boon; 
When mounting heights I sigh; 

Weak limbs are tired soon. 

Bald the once curly head; 

Sounds become undefined; 
Passion's hot flame is dead; 

Changes find me resigned. 

By fire, by flood destroyed. 

Brief was its fleeting stay, 
The wealth I once enjoyed, 

How soon it passed away. 

— 146 — 



Friends sharing joys and fears, 
Their worth beyond all praise, 

Are gone; I mark with tears, 
My solitary days. 

The crowning loss of all, 
Of her I may not speak, — 

Intensified my fall 

To old age lone and weak. 

And yet, how much remains ! 

My mind, my thought is free! 
How estimate the gains, 

The wealth of memory ! 

Swift as a flash of light. 

Each scene of long-past years, 

With outlines sharp and bright. 
Before my gaze appears. 

And love's warm, pulsing tide, 
Still surges through my heart; 

Growing more deep and wide. 
As earthly gifts depart. 

-147- 



Now with my books at peace, 
The outside world forgot, 

From woe a sure release, — 
This pleasure changes not. 

Amid the healthful air, 
The Poets work their spell. 

Transmute the clouds of care, 
And make the ailing well. 

In the calm realms of thought, 
I meet the good and great, 

Their words with wisdom fraught, 
Illume a sombre fate. 

Thus, though a lone, old man, 
Life is like mellow wine ; 

The goblet I'll not scan, 
Whose nectar is divine ! 



— 148 



NIGHT. 

Alone I walk the quiet streets at night: 
All is so still where rush and roar by day- 
Disturbed the mind ; nor can the fancy play 

With hard reality in colors bright. 

But now, with outlines soft, in dim starlight, 
And all hues faded into sober gray. 
My tired eyes can rest ; while, far away, 

I gaze in peace on heaven's transcendent sight. 

Though earthly scenes must change as years roll by, 
We wisely leave behind our own dead past; 
Would not on the irrevocable dwell. 

But this supernal scene, this crowded sky, 
Is the same spectacle, enchanting, vast. 
Which in our early youth we loved so well. 



— 149 



THE GLOWING COALS. 

Here, by the evening fire, I gaze 
At glowing coals and fitful blaze. 

As on a stage, before my eyes. 
By fancy's aid, these scenes arise. 

An ancient house, with portal wide, 
A road with trees on either side. 

On rustic bench beneath a tree, 
Two lovers, side by side, I see. 

Some earnest words, then hand in hand, 
They walk and at the portal stand. 

An interval, — the fire burns low, 
The embers lose their magic glow. 

And now, once more, the fire is bright, 
The ancient house stands in the light. 

A long procession at its head, 

A bridegroom and his bride, just wed. 

All through the portal gaily go. 
I wish them joy. The fire is low. 

-ISO- 



TO DUTY. 

The morning dawns, and chanticleer aloud 
Proclaims the sun is surely drawing near; 
But, ere it rises, gathering mists appear, 

Which all its glories dismally enshroud. 

So, melancholy, lone amidst the crowd, 

I fancy brightness comes my lot to cheer; 

But, scarcely yet begun, — Oh! change most drear! 

Hope's rays are dimmed by Care's dull, leaden cloud. 

Let virtue show its own, transcendent power! 
Oh! heart! be resolute o'er adverse fate! 
And all the claims of duty well fulfill ! 

Nor ask from heaven any richer dower 
Than strength to bear, or high or low estate, 
With dignity and never-yielding will. 



— 151- 



AT A SYMPHONY OF BEETHOVEN. 
Quartette in A Minor, Op. 132. 

Now I am lifted to the seventh heaven! 

Strange harmonies waft my rapt soul on high ! 

Bright scenes ineffable before me lie, 
To mortal vision all too seldom given. 

Forth from the realm of thought all mists are riven; 

As I advance, dark clouds before me fly; 

While depths profound, which deeper depths imply, 
Yawn under me as I am onwards driven. 

What wond'rous spell in thy symphonic strains ; 
To raise, expand, o'erwhelm the human soul! 
Revealing thy illimitable power! 

Creator, thou ! from thee my spirit gains 

(As here I yield my mind to thy control,) 
Celestial bliss, in this ecstatic hour ! 



152- 



THE MORNINGSIDE PARK, NEW YORK CITY. 

A happy thought evoked the verdure here, 

And ordered winding walks and shrubs and trees, 
Where children's gambols their fond parents please, 

And rocks titanic picturesque appear. 

And this cyclopean wall, — not built in fear, 
As rampant, lest an enemy might seize 
A coign of vantage, — but, to support with ease 

The rising road from which our view is clear. 

There to the east, towards Long Island Sound, 
A distant sail now glimmers in the sun ; 
To west, Grant's Tomb, where Hudson's waters run; 

Far north, the city stretches to its bound. 

And southward, sympathizing, hand in hand. 
Cathedral, Hospital and College stand. 

I. Cathedral of St. John ; 2. Hospital of St. Luke ; 3. Columbia College. 



THE SPIRIT'S POWER. 

One by one, as on we journey, 

Friends, alas! drop from the way; 
And the flinty road before us, 

Calls for courage, day by day; 
Yet the bodily powers are growing 

Less and less with each new stage, 
Forcing us to feel th' unwelcome 

Weakness of advancing age. 

But the spirit, still undaunted. 

Stronger grown with each new strain, 
Urges vigorously forwards, 

Notwithstanding toil and pain. 
With ideals to accomplish, 

Not beyond our conscious force, 
We mount upwards, ever upwards, 

To complete our chosen course. 

While we mount, how hard soever 

Proves the road we're led to take, 
We march on it, feeling certain. 

Naught can resolution break; 
And we have a joy, the deepest 

Human heart can ever know. 
In the consciousness of mastery 

Over all things here below. 

-154- 



What! shall we allow our nature 

To descend to meaner joy ? 
With wide fields of thought before us, 

Fitted noblest gifts t' employ? 
Though the road is steep and lonely, 

And the breeze blows cold and keen. 
Outward hindrances are trifles 

To the power within, unseen. 

Be of good cheer! heart within us! 

Courage conquers in the end; 
Obstacles that seem to thwart us. 

Can be ordered to befriend; 
All things hasten to assist us. 

For all nature is but one. 
And at last we shall look backwards, 

On a course of duty done. 

As we journey, all grows purer. 

Prospect widens, skies are bright, 
Every new advance discloses 

Copious sources of delight ; 
And we learn, by our experience. 

Common ills cannot control, 
The glad freedom of the spirit. 

And the progress of the soul. 

-155- 



A VISION. 

Last night, within the confines of my room, 

Half-lit to shield my over-tired eyes, 

I saw distinctly, to my great surprise. 
The outlines of an ancient, lonely tomb ; 
Moss-covered, framed by weeds, — so apt to assume 

Rank shapes, — which hid in part its proper size, 

While adding to its venerable guise; 
And pall-like clouds intensified the gloom. 
Alert, I scanned what name and date were there; 

And saw mine own, carved on the crumbling stone ; 
The date read just five hundred years ago. 
I woke, and thought ; — This vision would declare 

What shall be in the future, when, alone. 

The owl speaks wisdom, and the night winds blow. 



156- 



WINGS. 

To fly from dull, unsatisfying things ; 

From stagnant streams that fester in the sun ; 

From works that never should have been begun; 
From noisome dens, fit but for beasts, — wings ! wings ! 

To fly from fools, and low-bred underlings ; 

Their sordid ways and vanities to shun ; 

To breathe pure air when the clear heights are won ; 
For this my spirit longs, and cries, — wings ! wings ! 

Strong aspirations for the good and true ; 
A soaring zeal faith can alone impart ; 

And buoyant hope which its own rapture brings. 

No timid flutter, nor short-sighted view, 

But, love's broad pinions serving the full heart. 
Thou canst fly far, my soul ! with such-like wings ! 

January i, 1901. 



157 



BLESSEDNESS IN NATURE. 

A quiet hour. Behold the trees 
Swayed gently by the morning breeze ; 
Upturned each leaf to drink the dew, 
Or catch the light, and life renew. 

What charm all Nature's movements show 
Life from her pulses doth o'erflow 
To leaf, to tree, — and so to all, — 
^Each throbbing thing, or great or small. 

The tree, the leaf, the breeze, the light; 
The mysteries also of the night; 
Help to complete the cosmic whole. 
Which rules our body and our soul. 

A blessing thus to feel and know 
From whence we are, and where we go ; 
No futile quests our thoughts annoy; 
Peace, — ^peace is ours without alloy. 

June, 1901. 



158- 



THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS AND THE PLAINS. 
FROM DENVER. 



'Tis early morn, and from my bed I haste, 
To gaze upon the western mountain-chain. 
How clear the view of the extended range, 
Which sweeps along from north to south so far, 
That distant Pike's Peak clothes itself with haze, 
Its gauze-like veil dim-colored by the dawn! 
The nearer, snow-clad heights grow slowly pink, 
Touched by the rising sun's first, level rays, 
As day begins. How peaceful and sublime! 
How pure the rosy tips immaculate! 

-159- 



From out the night, they waken to new life, 

And send their prayer-like messages of grace 

Up through the clear, blue sky to heaven's gates. 

Arise ! my soul ! and worship silently ! 

Words would be vain. Let feelings soar on high; 

The deepest sources of emotion yield 

The harmonies of praise! Let nature's throbs 

Respond within, and tune thee to accord! 

As day advances, blended light and shade. 

And changing colors, add their varied hues; 

And morning-mists, and fleecy, tenuous clouds. 

Float near the lofty summits of the range. 

Here, in the foreground, sleeps this busy mart; 

Too much immersed in crude, material things ; 

Its thoughts, its troubled dreams of hoped-for gains, 

A potent, demon-spell to blear the sight; 

So that the treasures of the earth and sky, 

Immense, profuse, exhaustless as the soul. 

Are scarcely seen, nor move the callous heart. 

These tow'ring mountains, with majestic lines. 
Outstretched, and winding through a continent; 
And these wide plains, uplifted, table-lands, 
Raised to the sunlight, up beyond low clouds ; 

— i6o^ 



Fanned by the pure, the heaHng breath of heaven; 
Have had a marvelous, exciting past; 
And yield, when science clarifies the mind, 
Strange visions of a teeming life, of change 
Through countless cycles, ere the 'plenished earth 
Became a home for man; with incidents 
Beyond imagination's boldest guess ; 
Protean life evolving without end! 

The geologic records still exist, 

And mark the birth of crystals, rocks and clays, 

And faint beginnings of the pristine germs 

In cell and plant ; and varied higher types 

In water, earth and sky, formed and transformed, 

Which flourished, link by link, until outworn. 

In later ages here rolled stormy seas, 
To dash against the low, cretaceous shores, 
And breed huge monsters, eager to disport, 
Or race with fearful speed to fill their jaws 
With countless myriads of feebler spawn. 
And, flying o'er the surface, in dense air. 
Gigantic, winged beasts, yet inchoate birds, 
Swoop'd on their prey ; or, screaming, soared aloft 
To wage fierce contests in the heated sky. 

-i6i- 



They, also, passed away. The very seas 
Exhaled, and left these plains, their ancient beds. 
All filled with rigid husks of vanished life. 
Oft, 'mid volcanic fires, and noise immense. 
Thick streams of glowing lava coursed along; 
While sombre, murky skies, and sulphurous clouds, 
Rain'd down a muddy deluge. 

The earth groan'd 
As slowly were upheaved, from lowest depths. 
New landmarks, crags on crags, titanic peaks. 
Which split the spreading continent in twain; 
To be for many centuries to come. 
Dread, frowning ramparts 'gainst the surging ^ast. 

While, at their base, these lofty, parched lands, 
Where scanty vegetation strove to grow, 
Resounded 'neath the mammoth's ponderous tread. 
And felt wild herds of smaller beasts sweep by. 
Could we by wizard wand at once disclose 
What here has been, — the throng of active life. 
All clothed in beauty out of fitness born, — 
'Twould be a vision of a busy world, 
Which rose, and greatly flourished, then decayed. 
As ages rolled their countless years along. 

— 162 — 



But when, through human ignorance and pride, 
Man looks on nature, 'mid her varied charms, — 
The mountains and the plains, oceans and lakes. 
And all the myriad forms of life therein ; 
The insect tribes, and strangely creeping things; 
The reptiles, and the birds of flashing wing; 
The transient flowers, and hoary forest trees, — 
And then, unconscious victim of mere self, 
Asserts, — "My Father made all this for me!" 
Calm nature treats his childish speech with scorn. 
And points in silence to the lapse of time. 
Through untold ages, while our earth was young, 
And peopled by its hosts of living forms. 

Man boasts himself creation's rightful lord; 
But, where was he when these unstoried scenes 
Were acts in the world-drama, slowly played. 
Upon the outspread earth, 'neath watchful stars? 
At last, unheralded, full late he came ; 
But, he came not to rule as lord of all ; 
'Twere well, could he but learn to rule himself ; 
The little he controls goes often wrong ; 
And august nature clears his works away. 



163 



KARL AND BERTHA 



A ROMANCE OF THE RHINE. 



CANTO I. 



I. 



Beside the Rhine, some centuries ago, 
Rudolphus, baron, dwelt on his domain. 
Surrounded by his vassals, high and low. 
Who lived contented under his mild reign; 
They were the social body, he the brain ; 
Their fortunes closely joined, master and man, 
In peace or war, in sunshine or in rain; 
All for the common interest quickly ran. 
Where any danger threatened their beloved clan. 

-165- 



11. 



upon steep crags, which reared themselves on high, 
The baron's castle courted every breeze ; 
From its old battlements, the watcher's eye, 
O'er river, field and wood, could roam at ease ; 
While all within, ready like wasps or bees. 
Could sally forth, and utterly destroy 
The fools who rashly should attempt to seize 
The stronghold ; or might strategem employ ; 
And thus, in robber zeal, the lord and clan annoy. 



III. 



The baron and his wife had long been wed; 
For years they wished a child might bless their lot; 
Her earnest prayers early and late were said, 
No amulet or charm had she forgot. 
By which to thwart what seemed to her a plot ; 
When, just as hope had almost died away, 
For still her patron-saint responded not, 
A son was born; which proved, if mothers pray. 
Their heartfelt faith prevails, and changes night to day. 

- 166 - 



IV. 



The child, called Karl, from mother's father named, 
Grew finely, scion worthy of his sires; 
Kind, cheerful, strong, and yet but seldom blamed 
By those compelled to curb his young desires ; 
They ruled him well, not quenching native fires, 
But wisely granting freedom to explore 
The wondrous natural world that never tires, 
Revealing charms, which increase more and more, 
Thro' all the changing years, until this life is o'er. 



V. 



Oft in the garden he would pass bright hours. 
And watch the bees and painted butterflies, 
On sweets intent, steal from the helpless flowers ; 
Or, when he heard, would strain his youthful eyes 
To see the lark, who sang far up the skies ; 
Or with his mother, strolling, hand in hand, 
He learn'd the myths of gnomes of pigmy size, 
Who dwelt in rocks and caves, and held command 
Of stones and trees and shrubs throughout the widespread land. 

-167- 



VI. 



The children of the vassals willingly 
Received him in their various games of skill, 
And urged him on to deeds of bravery; 
Encouraged him when showing ready will 
To suffer hardships, and all rules fulfill; 
And thus he learned to run, and jump, and throw 
The quoit, and wrestle with his equals, till 
All wondered at the vigor he could show. 
And for a daring feat, would loud applause bestow. 



VII. 



His father, skillful horseman, fittest guide, 
Took pleasure in his efforts to excel; 
Taught him to drive, gave him a horse to ride. 
And stimulated him to do tasks well ; 
And, when he failed, still proud success compel. 
At times, at hunts, he showed no childish fear. 
But watched the coverts where the game might dwell; 
Or, with delight, gazed at the bounding deer. 
And heard the hunters' horns resounding far or near. 

— i68 - 



VIII. 

And thus he lived in the pure, country air, 
A pleasant, fearless, and warm-hearted boy; 
Contented always with the plainest fare ; 
With dogs and horses finding- keenest joy; 
With them he would, day after day, employ 
Some hours in sport, seeking the smaller game ; 
Returning home, — pleasure without alloy, — 
Aloft displayed the proof of his sure aim. 
His youthful heart aglow, his ruddy cheeks aflame. 



IX. 



About the time when Karl was twelve years old, 
Upon a morn his mother moan'd and cried. 
And wrung her hands in grief, — for she was told, 
Her only brother, famed Quitan, had died. 
Then, on his death, a calvalcade did ride 
As escort for his child, the count's sole heir ; 
For, in his will 'twas writ, — "I do confide 
My daughter. Bertha, to my sister's care. 
I ask for christian love ; this my last earthly prayer.'' 

-169- 



X. 



Two days they journeyed; and, when came night- fall, 
The guards with Bertha reached the castle-gate, 
And asked the sentry, marching on the wall. 
If they might enter, though the hour was late; 
And got reply, — "Have patience; kindly wait." 
Then men-at-arms obeyed the baron's call ; 
The bolts were drawn ; the rusty hinges grate ; 
Rudolphus then large welcome gave to all ; 
And wine and food were served in the long banquet-hall. 



XL 



The baroness controlled her grief and tears; 
With woman's tenderness the child caressed; 
By soothing words dispelled her natural fears, 
And many kisses on her forehead pressed; 
With eager hands prepared a couch for rest, 
In the large corner-room beside her own ; 
Where ever-watchful love should well attest 
That this sad orphan was not left alone, 
In a cold, friendless world, too full of perils sown. 

— 170 — 



CANTO II. 



I. 



Quitan by choice had led a soldier's life; 
His mind was quick, and stalwart was his frame ; 
And when, in years advanced, he sought a wife. 
Instead of youth he brought both wealth and fame. 
And honored his young wife by his great name. 
In one short year after the pair were wed, 
A fickle fortune brought his plans to shame; 
An infant girl was born; his wife was dead; 
The fondly cherished hope of a male heir had fled. 



II. 



Some weeks before the young wife's sudden death, 
At night a voice spoke in her drowsy ear; 
She woke at once, but scarcely drew her breath. 
So much she felt an overpowering fear, 
For she believed some spirit hovered near. 
The voice had said, — "Send quickly to Brabant ! 
Write thou a letter urging to come here 
The widowed Ursula, thy kind, old aunt! 
Be sure 'tis done at once; because the time is scant!" 

-171 — 



III. 



And this was done, and Ursula with pain, 
The tedious journey made, 'neath wintry sky; 
But, the event made all her cares seem vain ; 
In spite of youth and wealth and station high, 
The mother of an hour was doomed to die. 
Yet, Ursula, an angel in disguise. 
Led sad Quitan to see with hopeful eye 
The pretty babe; she gave him counsel wise. 
As one who, taught by many griefs, on God relies. 



IV. 



And when 'twas time she should to Brabant go, 
Quitan would not permit her to depart; 
Indeed, she did but weak insistence show ; 
The thought alone produced an inward smart ; 
For infant Bertha filled her mind and heart. 
And when Quitan, yielding to strong demands, 
Once more in war must show his skill and art. 
He gave to her control his house, his lands, 
Quite sure all would go well, intrusted to her hands. 

— 172 — 



The years ran on ; 'twas only now and then, 
Quitan could be at home for a few days ; 
In general, he was absent with his men; 
He braved all perils, gained the army's praise, 
And wore by right the wished-for victor's bays. 
All through these years, the lovely little one, 
With flaxen curls, blue eyes, and winning ways, 
Still more the heart of Ursula had won; 
For her the aged dame no sacrifice would shun. 



VI. 



From Ursula she early learned to knit; 
By her instruction soon was taught to sew; 
Upon a little stool by her would sit. 
Much moved to hear the tales of long ago, 
When, for Truth's sake, the martyrs' blood did flow; 
Or, clinging fast to Ursula's kind hand. 
Would mount the hill and to the chapel go; 
Before the altar humbly kneel or stand. 
And from the saints and virgin-queen their aid demand. 

-173- 



VII. 



Nine summers now had little Bertha seen; 
A thoughtful child, not overfond of play, 
Modest and diffident, of downcast mien. 
Her mind to childish reveries a prey. 
Because she lacked companions blythe and g"ay; 
No other children helped to train her powers ; 
Seclusion hindered knowledge, led astray; 
So Bertha passed too many dreamy hours, 
Not knowing much beyond the castle's walls and towers. 

VIII. 

Then, suddenly, a hasty message told, 
How to Quitan a misadventure came; 
His horse had fall'n, and over him had rolled, 
His breast was injured, and a leg was lame; 
He must come home, and kind attention claim. 
And soon he came, upon a litter borne; 
A monk was with him, doctor of some fame, 
An aged man, his head in tonsure shorn. 
Who treated bodily ills, and, likewise, souls forlorn. 

-174 — 



IX. 



The presence of the monk was like a charm ; 
To cure Quitan, he skillful measures took; 
He quelled at once old Ursula's alarm, 
And calmed young Bertha by a word or look. 
In early life, physician, he forsook 
His practice, home, and hopes of ample wealth; 
As pilgrim, walked to Rome ; no ease would brook ; 
But, fasted oft ; an order joined by stealth ; 
And strict monastic vows assumed for his soul's health. 



X. 



Withdrawn from active life, compelled to lie 
Upon his bed, and suffer grievous pain, 
Wearied by. thought, to count the hours go by. 
For such a role Quitan had but disdain. 
And longed intensely to be well again. 
But Ursula, the monk, and Bertha tried. 
In divers ways, to soothe his restless brain ; 
By turns, they sat and watched at his bedside, 
And with assiduous care the sick man's wants supplied. 

- 175 - 



XI. 



The broken leg was healed by care and skill; 
Not so, however, with the wounded breast ; 
Deep-seated hurts kept the sad patient ill; 
For breath he labored, had but fitful rest ; 
And yet the monk a cheerful view expressed. 
The doctor's instincts taught him to rely 
On hope, as always working for the best; 
And though, perhaps, he knew Quitan would die, 
This latent thought he kept concealed from every eye. 



XIL 



As doctor of the soul, the monk essayed. 
In converse with Quitan, to estimate 
At their real worth the aims by which are swayed 
The minds of men; how small what they call great! 
And told with joy of his own peaceful state. 
Quitan was moved, and gave a strong assent; 
He feared these truths had come to him too late ; 
Declared, if he got well, 'twas his intent 
To lead a pious life; death only should prevent. 

— 176 — 



XIII. 

The monk was pleased, his heartfelt work was crowned, 
By God's great grace, with an assured success; 
The seed divine had fitting lodgement found ; 
The word in season heaven did surely bless. 
Rewarding thus believing earnestness. 
And Ursula rejoiced with joy so deep, 
That words seemed vain her feelings to express; 
And Bertha, as she watched her father sleep. 
Elated by the news, for joy did gently weep. 

XIV. 

A few days later, always good and kind. 
Old Ursula sat talking by his bed ; 
And childhood's scenes all glowing in her mind, 
Began to tell Quitan how she was led, 
A merry girl, once with ... no more she said. 
But, leaned back in her chair, and softly sighed. 
And, in a moment, Ursula was dead. 
The grief was great ; in vain poor Bertha cried ; 
The monk, himself, surprised, brushed heartfelt tears aside. 

-177- 



XV. 



To weak Quitan, by lingering illness spent, 
This sudden death proved a decided blow; 
For now, he felt a message had been sent. 
To wean his thoughts from all things here below. 
Then to the monk he said, — "Full well I know, 
Thou art a learned man, with skill to write; 
Aid me by written document to show 
My last desires." Then did the monk indite. 
On a large parchment, sealed, what Count Quitan judged right. 



XVL 

He gave the church for masses much good land; 
And to the monk some precious stones and gold 
For his own cloister; then he gave command 
For final gifts to friends, both young and old ; 
, Then, what his yeomen should receive he told ; 
His body and his wife's one tomb should share; 
Thereon should be engraved, — Quitan, the Bold; 
He gave his daughter to his sister's care ; 
And closed the script by stating Bertha was his heir. 

-178- 



CANTO III. 



I. 



When Bertha reached the castle late at night, 
Karl, healthy boy, was fast asleep in bed; 
But, the next day, alert with early light. 
His horse, his dogs, his rabbit-pets he fed ; 
Then, with some flowers, to his mother sped ; 
She smiled, anticipating his surprise ; 
Then quickly brought in Bertha ; and she said, — 
"Behold thy cousin ! we have gained this prize ! 
She came last night, when sleep was heavy on thine eyes. 



II. 



Then from the nosegay in his mother's hand, 
Karl took a rose, and gave it to the maid ; 
Then kissed her, saying, — "Welcome to our land ! 
And welcome to our house! be not afraid!" 
Most cheerfully his mother he obeyed. 
Took Bertha's hand, and led her to the board, 
Where servants had on broidered napkins laid. 
The bread, the meat, and honey lately stored. 
But, timid Bertha scarcely ate; this all deplored. 

— 179 — 



III. 



And when the early, frugal meal was done, 
Rudolphus chose three of his men, well-armed, 
To ride with him until the set of sun, 
As escort for the guards who brought unharmed, 
Through a wild region, oft by raids alarmed, 
The little Bertha safe to his stronghold; 
The strangers were by his politeness charmed ; 
Then, mounting horse, due south, these warriors bold, 
Rode forth to reach ere night Mayence renown'd of old. 



IV. 



'Twas well for Bertha that the baroness, 
With woman's sympathizing, tender heart. 
Most fully entered into her distress; 
Observed the faltering words, the sudden start; 
And other signs of the deep, inward smart. 
And yet, she was convinced, it would be best 
For this retiring child, could she impart. 
That taste for out-door life which Karl possessed. 
Which kept him ever busy, with no thought of rest. 

■'"'^ ' ~ 180- 



V. 



With this in view, she in the garden walked, 
Or sat and sewed, with Karl and Bertha near; 
And oftentimes right genially she talked. 
And told them stories they were pleased to hear ; 
But, if the day proved to be warm and clear, 
With Karl as guide, together they would stray 
In forest paths, to see perchance some deer ; 
Or, he the spot would show, not far away. 
Where his brave father speared the savage boar at bay. 



VL 



So, day by day, the pleasant summer through, 
In the fresh air, these three did lightly go ; 
Sometimes it was a distant scene to view. 
Sometimes to watch the river's varied flow ; 
Or, wearied, climb the cliff with footsteps slow; 
Karl gathered stones, which he considered rare; 
But Bertha, lingered where sweet flowers did grow. 
And plucked all those which seemed to her most fair, 
Or those, ambrosial-like, whose perfume filled the air. 

-i8i- 



VIL 



The out-door life worked like a fairy's spell; 
The baroness perceived it with delight; 
For, Bertha showed that she was growing well, 
By ruddy cheeks and vigorous appetite ; 
Besides, her timid mien had taken flight. 
And now, in household work she took her share ; 
Disdained, in any wise, a task to slight ; 
She kept her garments all in good repair ; 
And showed, in loving ways, quick sense of her aunt's care. 

VIII. 

The advent of his cousin gave new zest 
To all Karl's willing labors, or his play; 
He shared with her whatever he possessed; 
And if, perchance, in danger she did stray, 
He hastened to her aid without delay. 
His age, full three years greater, he took pride 
In making of his strength and skill display ; 
And when his feat to peril was allied. 
If Bertha could be near, was the more gratified. 



IX. 



And Bertha chose Karl for her bosom friend; 
Her childlike tales poured in his ready ear ; 
Made fact and fancy curiously blend; 
Imagination making all seem clear ; 
And yet, was truthful, open, and sincere. 
He found her winsome, full of girlish grace; 
She thought of him as of a brother dear ; 
And often in her reveries would trace 
A bright career for him, one worthy of their race. 



X. 



And now, Rudolphus, at his wife's desire, 
Although he held all letters worth but scorn, 
Procured the service of a learned friar. 
To bring some scripts along with his ink-horn, 
And stay the winter through till Easter-morn. 
The genial man should Karl and Bertha, each, 
One hour a day, if so much could be borne, 
To read and write and cipher fully teach ; 
Still, did the baroness for Bible-lore beseech. 

-183- 



XL 



At first, the godly man each morn essayed, 
In teaching, their attention to secure; 
And, for the lively boy and thoughtful maid, 
Spared not himself to make their progress sure; 
An hour, indeed, was all they could endure. 
While Bertha conned her tasks with extra care, 
Karl found the matter grievously obscure ; 
Then, when the friar the hour-glass turned, the pair 
Rushed forth with frantic joy to breathe the bracing air. 



XII. 



The friar proved to be a skillful man ; 
Albeit his learning was not over-great. 
With confidence he taught ; and 'twas his plan, 
As if for diligence to compensate. 
Each day a Bible-story to narrate; 
Of the first things, a lively picture drew ; 
How God made man, free, master of his fate; 
Described the fall ; how Cain his brother slew ; 
The ark, the flood, — and thus, the sacred story through. 

-184- 



XIII. 

The baroness would come, and sit, and sew, 
At times when this one hour she could have free ; 
The friar for her a marked respect did show ; 
She heard the lessons, heard the history, 
While still her needle flashed unceasingly. 
But, not unseldom all her thought was pain; 
Her mind reverted to the time when she, 
A beautiful young girl, alas, in vain, 
Sought wisdom; but, in ignorance dwelt 'neath error's reign. 



XIV. 

On Christmas day the friar fitly told. 
How Christ was born, and in a manger laid ; 
In swaddling clothes by the blessed Virgin rolled ; 
While glorious angels, in bright robes arrayed, 
High in the starry sky sweet music made. 
Then later, in the green-decked banquet hall, 
Rudolphus and his men the yule-log laid ; 
The fruitful Christmas-tree bore gifts for all. 
While cakes and wine and venison fed lord and thrall. 

- 185 - 



XV. 



By holy week, the youths could read and write ; 
With figures they could fairly calculate; 
What Karl had first found heavy, now was light; 
Their progress had been at a rapid rate; 
In history too, their interest had been great; 
Good seed the friar felt had been well sown. 
With grateful gifts he left the castle gate; 
He aimed to spend his Easter in Cologne, 
And wait there till the bones of the three kings were shown. 



— 186 — 



CANTO IV. 



I. 



Now soon, the Rhine, no longer swollen high, 
Flowed as a stream of secondary size. 
And many places in its bed were dry ; 
Rudolphus and his men with greedy eyes. 
Now watched for what might prove to be a prize ; 
They fixed obstructions in the stream by night; 
Behold! 'twas done! before the next sunrise, 
A vessel was aground, — a hapless sight, — 
But, to the ruthless band, a cause of keen delight. 



II. 



When thus aground, the vessel's master knew, 
He must as ransom half his cargo pay. 
Or, boldly arm himself and his small crew, 
And fight it out, as if with beasts of prey ; 
The safer mode he chose without delay; 
And half his goods relinquished, if not more. 
Rudolphus then, his men, in lordly way, 
Bestirred to shove the vessel off the shore ; 
And thus, she onward sailed, but lighter than before. 

-187- 



IIL 



As time ran on, the children learned to sing, 
In unison, with no pretense of art; 
But, in their plaintive songs would often bring 
Sweet cadences to touch the feeling heart. 
When, from the list'ners' eyes soft tears would start. 
Sometimes they sat in the high, square-built tower, 
Which, of the castle formed a salient part. 
And there, like nightingales in leafy bower, 
Would sing, with voices loud, throughout the evening hour. 



IV. 



One day, the baroness drew forth a book. 
Which long had lain in an old, walnut chest ; 
Its leaves of vellum had an ancient look. 
And it was bound in parchment roughly dressed ; 
It closed with silver clasps, which bore a crest. 
"Books are a prey to fortune as are men;" 
Some perish soon, some change to palimpsest ; 
So, this rare book, fond task of skillful pen. 
Came forth to vanish as a dream from human ken. 



V. 



It was, in truth, an early, classic work. 
In Latin written, ages long before; 
In a crusade was wrested from the Turk, 
And as a prize reached the Venetian shore; 
Then passed to one who loved all ancient lore ; 
His crest adorned it, when 'twas newly bound ; 
And, when he died, all that he held in store. 
Went to an heir who dwelt on German ground; 
Then long it slumbered in the chest where it was found. 



VI. 



The book was given to Karl ; he looked it through ; 
The purpose he then formed to him seemed sage ; 
All this old book's contents should be made new ; 
He slowly washed the writing from each page ; 
Thus showed but small respect for hoary age ; 
As final aid, soft pumice-stone did bring ; 
Then a new labor must his skill engage; 
On the smooth leaves, — his pen from a goose-wing,- 
He wrote the songs and ballads he had learned to sing. 

— 189 — 



VIL 



The castle of Rudolphus, grim and strong, 
Was, to his people, a just source of pride; 
In a degree it did to them belong. 
In stress and storm to it at once all hied ; 
Protected by it lived, or bravely died. 
But, further from the river, on high ground. 
Unlike the castle, yet to it allied. 
The great church stood, a sign of truth profound. 
Which raised the thoughts above all this life's petty round. 

VIII. 

This edifice was built in romaine style ; 
From Mayence skilled assistance had been lent, 
To plan and help to rear the lofty pile; 
While all the people piously intent. 
Like ants, for generations came and went. 
Till, by their work, the finished house arose. 
Then from a tower the bell its message sent. 
Of festive joy, or, marked life's solemn close. 
Or, summoned all to heaven's own balm for human woes. 

— 190 — 



IX. 



Within the church or out, for rich or poor, 
The priests and helpers had enough to do; 
The malady of sin demanded cure; 
The misery was great, the lab'rers few. 
And even love and zeal despondent grew. 
But still, the baroness, in her kind way. 
And Bertha at her side, assistant true. 
Were out among the people every day. 
To tend the helpless sick, or with the dying pray. 



X. 



And in the church the tombs of kith and kin. 
Were strewn with flowers, by their pious care ; 
And for the souls of those who slept therein, 
Were masses said, to rescue from despair. 
And sooner gain of heavenly love a share. 
And when the long processions slowly wound, 
Within the church or in the open air. 
The ancient hymns they sang, while passing round, 
And 'midst the humblest worshippers were always found. 

-191 — 



XI. 



And for the church oft they were occupied, 
In their own rooms, and stitched rare broideries. 
And by their art with patient nuns they vied. 
The work adorning with gold traceries. 
Inserted deftly, practised eyes to please. 
Likewise, fine linen altar-cloths they made. 
And priestly vestments, slowly, by degrees; 
And then, at length, they felt themselves repaid. 
When the beloved priests were fittingly arrayed. 



XII. 



Some busy years sped by, for weal or woe; 
A manly youth, Karl now was large and strong. 
For he could bend his father's prized yew bow, 
And bore the heavy, ashen spear along. 
As he rode foremost of the hunting throng. 
A rider bold, he showed both grace and skill, 
But, seldom used the spur's sharp, ruthless prong ; 
For by his tones, his horse divined his will. 
And dashed on like the wind, or patiently stood still. 

— 192- 



XIII. 

One day, when hunting in a distant wood, 
The pack of dogs disclosed a she-wolf's lair; 
And as the hunters near the wolf-den stood. 
The furious beast, impelled by wild despair, 
With sudden bound, before he was aware, 
Dash'd at Karl's throat, and pulled him from his horse ; 
The throat she missed, but seized his waving hair ; 
Then to his knife he quickly had recourse. 
Struck the beast's heart with skill, and slung her off by force. 



XIV. 



That night, Rudolphus, at the supper, proud 
To see his son beside him all unharmed. 
Recounted to the baroness aloud, 
The story of the wolf : — How he was charmed 
To see the fight; how Karl was unalarmed. 
And drew his knife, and forced it to her heart. 
Oh ! that showed skill ! 'twas well that he was armed ! 
That she-wolf's skin, well-dressed, a thing apart, 
Should serve as a memento of the hunter's art. 

-193- 



XV. 



Within the castle, as the only child, 
Karl gave his father reverence, and obeyed; 
And, for his charming mother, always mild, 
Whose image never from his heart could fade, 
A noble, filial piety displayed. 
For Bertha he still showed a love sincere ; 
But, who could say just how he loved the maid? 
Was she to him, simply as cousin, dear? 
Or, in his thoughts did she in lovelier guise appear? 

XVI. 

As women in that age of chivalry, 
Were excellent in labors of real worth. 
So Bertha never shunned activity. 
In tasks deemed fit for ladies of high birth. 
Aware that toil must be her lot on earth ; 
She spun and wove the flax and wool ; she sewed ; 
Her bag of work hung ready from her girth ; 
All her own robes to her own skill she owed; 
And to the humbler maids a good example showed. 

— T94 — 



XVII. 

As Bertha was the heiress of Quitan, 
And must adorn by conduct a great name, 
Her aunt's instructions followed a wise plan, 
She praised her when she met stern duty's claim, 
And proved nobility by lofty aim. 
Thus Bertha wore distinction's subtle air; 
'Twas felt by all who in her presence came. 
That this tall, slender maid, this countess, fair. 
Belonged to a free race, one fit to do or dare. 

XVIII. 

When closed the constant labors of the day, 
Fair Bertha, in her corner-room, at night, 
Would sit awhile, before she knelt to pray, 
Her thoughts and feelings wayward in their flight, 
Now somewhat sombre, now again more bright. 
Her love for Karl had strengthened with the years. 
Its growing power she could no longer slight, 
But, in her breast, along with hopes and fears. 
Her secret was alike the fount of joy and tears. 

-195- 



CANTO V. 



I. 



About this time, Karl an excursion made; 
Rudolphus, for his rights did not disdain, 
Along with Karl to join a cavalcade 
Of counts and barons, who had much to gain, 
By show of force at Frankfort-on-the-Main. 
The barons, like their castles, stood apart; 
But in great need, their power to retain. 
They had made common-cause, with hand and heart, 
And even braved the church, and all its priestly art. 



II. 



At Frankfort, three Prince-Bishops were on hand; 
With them, the counts and barons held debate, 
About the interests of the German land, 
And churchly rights, and powers of the state. 
And what might be the Holy Empire's fate. 
And so, they met and wrangled, loud and long; 
The laymen fierce, the clergy oft irate. 
All ended well ; and soon the seething throng 
Dispersed ; and right remained as always, with the strong. 

-196- 



III. 



While in the town, Karl bought himself a flute, 
Of ebon-wood, four- jointed, silver-bound ; 
And for dear Bertha, got a round-backed lute. 
Which, when well played, seemed like a harp to sound ; 
Rudolphus, for his wife, a head-dress found, 
Designed to hold in place luxuriant hair. 
The costly edge adorned with pearls around, 
'Twould give the lady an imposing air, 
Whenever she might choose this ornament to wear. 



IV. 



To the great meeting, from old Trier, there came. 
To aid the nobles, with alacrity. 
An eager count, Albertus was his name ; 
He showed Rudolphus a marked courtesy; 
And when the baron spoke, he hastened to agree ; 
And thus' 'twas natural, that the count's demand, 
When it was made, at last, all privily, 
Rudolphus felt unequal to withstand; 
So then, Albertus asked for the fair Bertha's hand. 

— 197 — 



Rudolphus said, — "Return with me, and stay 
A welcome guest within my castle gate; 
When we are there, without the least delay, 
I will unto my wife thy wishes state; 
To her skilled hands thou canst commit thy fate. 
A banquet shall be given to honor thee, 
So shalt thou meet thy lovely, future mate ; 
She also, there, will Count Albertus see; 
And may God grant to both a happy destiny !" 



VL 



Albertus, anxious to pursue the quest, 
Agreed to ride with them the morrow-morn; 
Karl merely knew the count would be their guest ; 
Had he known all, what would have been his scorn ? 
For, though the count was certainly well-born. 
His homeliness was clear to every eye, 
And even costly dress failed to adorn. 
Poor man ! his wealth was great, his influence high. 
But these rare gifts could not his lack of grace belie. 



VIL 



The homeward journey lasted one whole day; 
And when they reached the castle, it was night; 
But the full moon shone brightly on their way, 
And bathed the sombre pile in mellow light ; 
Which to Albertus was a pleasing sight. 
Within the castle, he was honored friend ; 
The baroness and Bertha were polite; 
Bright eyes, food, wine and song, their pleasures blend, 
And midnight's hour was passed before the joyous end. 

VIII. 

Next day, betimes, were preparations made, 
For the grand dinner in the banquet hall ; 
Each must appear, in festal garb arrayed. 
And heed the orders of the seneschal ; 
Albertus must be honored by them all. 
While Bertha dressed, her aunt came in, and said, — 
"In future years, we shall this day recall; 
Our friend, the count, proposes thee to wed ; 
He rules a large domain, is rich, and nobly bred.'' 

- 199 — 



IX. 



Astonished Bertha staggered and sat down, 
Grew deadly pale, then wept with many tears; 
The kind aunt's brow took on an anxious frown ; 
And yet, she sympathized with Bertha's fears, 
And dreaded what might be in future years. 
But, the wise lady said, " 'Tis for the best ; 
A maiden should obey those she reveres, 
Who think, and dream, and plan, and take no rest, 
And strive to make the lives of their dear children blest. 



X. 



Dear Bertha, dry thine eyes ; be cool and ware ; 
And sharply scan Albertus; then decide; 
And if, in spite of all our pains and care. 
Thou art unwilling to become his bride, 
Rudolphus will be wrathful, and will chide ; 
But I, thy aunt, will force thee no whit more; 
'Twill be God's will ; He must not be defied ; 
But, all our hearts will be, alas, most sore." 
With this, she kissed her niece, passed out, and closed the door. 



XL 



At noon, the trumpet's sound did all address; 
Rudolphus then brought in the good, old priest; 
Albertus followed, with the baroness; 
Then handsome Karl led Bertha to the feast ; 
Then other guests the company increased; 
Then men-at-arms, and vassals high and low; 
Joy reigned supreme, for this glad day at least. 
Then choicest wines did without measure flow, 
And busy servants with baked meats rushed to and fro. 



XII. 



The chief, Rudolphus, held his place with ease; 
A festive tone prevailed, with the good cheer ; 
The baroness, Albertus strove to please; 
The good, old priest most genial did appear; 
And Karl was glad to have fair Bertha near ; 
But, she was silent, sat with downcast eyes; 
Karl felt the change, — its cause did not seem clear ; 
Yet, others present, keener, could surmise. 
And said, — "The homely count seeks Bertha ; wants the prize I' 



XIII. 

The banquet ended. Now the count must know, 
Shall he receive or not fair Bertha's hand? 
Or, hastening forth, to his own country go. 
His hopes as water poured out on the sand. 
Meanwhile, in Bertha's room, the aunt did stand ; 
And got this declaration from the maid, — 
"I cannot yield to the young count's demand ; 
I'll grieve, if those I love join to upbraid ; 
I will become a nun, and pray to heaven for aid." 



XIV. 

Rudolphus, now, at last, was forced to tell 
The count Albertus just the simple truth; 
"The baroness and he had wished him well; 
But who could guess the foolishness of youth? 
A woman's whim had baffled them, forsooth !" 
So then, the count departed, dignified; 
He was too highly bred to be uncouth ; 
He pressed Rudolphus' hand, and deeply sighed; 
And sadly fared him forth without the wished-for bride. 



CANTO VI. 



I. 



His father's mien, his mother's sober face, 
And Bertha's silence, now led Karl to see 
That some calamity had taken place; 
But he, by nature, was direct and free, 
And thus he failed to guess what it might be. 
Nor, did he choose to bear incertitude; 
But, when his mother was at liberty, 
He, in her room, remarked on her sad mood. 
And said, — "What evil thing compels thee thus to brood ?' 



11. 



Her son's kind interest touched the mother's heart, 
So that she felt most ready to explain ; 
To Karl she said, — "Dear son, I will impart 
The cause of our anxiety and pain ; 
It threatens still to make our best hopes vain. 
In secret, the young count made a demand, 
While ye sojourned at Frankfort-on-the-Main ; 
He asked your father for dear Bertha's hand ; 
Rudolphus gave him hope ; then brought him to our land. 

— 203 — 



III. 



Already, the first evening, to my eyes 
'Twas plain bright hope made the young count elate; 
Thy father's story caused me no surprise. 
For what he told, I did anticipate. 
And I was pleased ; my happiness was great ; 
I pictured Bertha honored, loved, adored. 
But she became as one most desolate. 
When I, next day, her kind assent implored. 
She let me see, with tears, this union she abhorred. 



IV. 



Nor, is this all; but I must also say, 
Thy father, very wrathful, raves and swears 
She shall no longer in his castle stay. 
He did his best to aid her, he declares; 
And he seems not to heed my earnest prayers. 
Moreover, Bertha tells me she will seek 
A peaceful refuge from this world's vain cares, 
And, as a simple nun, devout and meek. 
Pray those cast down may rise, God's strength may aid the weak.'* 

— 204 — 



V. 



His mother ceased ; e'en while she spoke, arose 
A storm of feeling in Karl's tortured breast ; 
He sat, a youth, and heard her tale of woes ; 
Sprang up, a man, determined, self-possessed. 
Then, as his tearful mother he caressed, 
He said, — **For God's sake, bring my cousin here ; 
What has been long unsaid, shall be expressed ; 
For Bertha to leave home were fate most drear; 
I must to her, at once, make my position clear." 



VI. 



They came. Karl said, — "Cousin, the count was bold ; 
At Frankfort, he took pains not to offend; 
And, when he came as guest to our stronghold, 
I thought he came as my dear father's friend ; 
But now, I learn what was his wily end. 
As I look back, what blindness has been mine ! 
Tve loved thee long, yet, did not comprehend 
The voice within, which was a voice divine. 
I love thee deeply. Bertha! all my heart is thine!" 

— 205 — 



VIL 



As when a landscape, sombre in the shade, 
Is suddenly lit up by radiance bright, 
These words of Karl transfigured the sad maid ; 
The baroness could scarce believe her sight, 
As Bertha's eyes beamed with supreme delight. 
"Give me thy kiss, dear aunt!" she quickly said; 
Then, like a bird, spontaneous in its flight. 
She flew to Karl, her eager arms outspread. 
And fondly on his breast she leaned her lovely head. 

VIIL 

The baroness then spoke in kindly tone ; 
"Excess of joy now makes my dear ones blind ; 
'Tis well this love to none but me is known; 
To keep it secret we must be resigned, 
Until Rudolphus shows a change of mind ; 
And then, awhile, secret it still must be; 
I fear the church may great objection find ; 
To marry cousins, princes are not free; 
The Pope, alone, at Rome, may grant that liberty/' 

— 206 — 



IX. 



Then, moved by Bertha's anxious, mute appeal, 
Karl pressed her to his heart with his strong hand, 
And to his mother said, — "In truth, we feel 
Our safety lies in heeding thy command; 
Nor father nor the priest would we withstand. 
Thy valued aid, dear mother, thou must lend. 
Lest our sweet bond, by home, by church be banned ; 
Thou art our best, our confidential friend ; 
And we are sure, with thee, to conquer in the end!" 



X. 



What woman, thus besought, could aid refuse 
To youthful hearts so willing to confide ? 
The thoughtful baroness was forced to choose 
To help her son, with Bertha at his side; 
Their earnest plea was not to be denied. 
She promised them to use her utmost skill. 
To lead Rudolphus rightly to decide; 
If he would aid them with his vigorous will, 
Perhaps, the gracious church their hearts with joy would fill. 

— 207 — 



XL 



When closed this changeful day, and night drew nigh, 
The baroness sat thoughtful in her room; 
Her hopeful view she longed to justify, 
And in her husband's face, instead of gloom, 
See wonted cheerfulness its sway resume. 
Just then, he entered; moodily sat down; 
And seemed, alas, disposed to fret and fume ; 
But the good mother boldly faced his frown. 
And hoped that some success her skill and tact would crown. 



XII. 



"Rudolphus," she began, ''Thou knowest well, 
Quitan, when dying, gave the church a share 
Of his large wealth ; he feared the pains of hell ; 
To save his soul he wished continual prayer ; 
He showed his faith, nor yielded to despair. 
Yet, though I love the church, I would not see. 
If we can hinder, by judicious care. 
His whole estate go from our family. 
And, by his daughter's foolish freak sequestered be. 

-208- 



XIII. 

Besides, I've learned, and now I understand, 
Her thoughts of convent-life did not arise, 
Merely because the count desired her hand; 
The damsel for another spent her sighs." 
At this Rudolphus showed extreme surprise. 
The baroness continued, — "Yea, her mind 
Is firmly set on Karl. Let us be wise. 
Must Bertha and her wealth be now resigned, 
Because her heart to our own son has been inclined ?' 



XIV. 

Through all these years, while the fair Bertha grew, 
From girlish grace to lovely womanhood. 
On looking back, full well Rudolphus knew. 
Not once had she his least command withstood, 
Except this last, sharp change of attitude. 
But now, his wife had made that riddle plain ; 
He saw 'twas love for Karl made her seem rude; 
And as her ardent love meant them great gain, 
No vestige of his wrath was suffered to remain. 

— 209 — 



XV. 



Then blandly to the baroness he said, — 
"My dearest wife, how wise of you to trace 
The source of woe up to its fountain-head ; 
Our Bertha I'll not blame for what took place ; 
I was too sure the count would meet with grace; 
Whereas, before I brought him on his quest, 
We should have talked with Bertha, face to face. 
And learned what passion hid in her soft breast ; 
And not have forced her heart to the unwelcome test.' 



XVL 

As years had passed, Rudolphus had not dreamed, 
Or church or state should gain at Bertha's cost ; 
He ordered her affairs. as best beseemed 
To guard her property from being lost; 
No thought of self his lordly mind had crossed. 
But, now a pleasing, gainful vision rose; 
'Twixt hopes and fears his eager heart was tossed; 
He asked, — "Will Karl a willingness disclose? 
Or, will the holy church non possumus oppose?" 



XVII. 

The baroness replied, — "Thy power is great; 
I have few fears, I leave the priests to thee ; 
I think thou canst the church propitiate. 
To Mayence go, and the Prince-Bishop see ; 
He is thy uncle ; he should hear our plea. 
Karl loves his cousin now ; full well I know, 
Thy favor given, — a fitting word from me, — 
He would his love for Bertha plainly show. 
And these two hearts to one would magically grow." 



XVIII. 

Rudolphus pleased, at once made haste to say, — 
"Thou speakest well! Thy counsel I will take; 
ril speak to Karl before I ride away ; 
Of course, I'm willing for my own son's sake. 
To see the Prince, and a full statement make. 
But, there must be no hint of convent more ; 
The cloister's interests might appear at stake ; 
'Gainst such an adverse force, we need no lore. 
To comprehend all chance of favor would be o'er." 



XIX. 

Next day, betimes, after the morning meal, 
Rudolphus gravely beckoned Karl aside. 
And led his son, by quesitons, to reveal 
The hope that Bertha might become his bride. 
Although he was in blood so near allied. 
Rudolphus said, — "My son, be of good cheer ! 
I shall this day, in force, to Mayence ride ; 
The old Prince-Bishop shall the story hear ; 
A Dispensation, without doubt, will cost us dear/' 



XX. 



Fair Bertha, Karl, and the kind baroness. 
For three days watched ; the baron then appeared ; 
He gave them joy by telling of success; 
But said, it turned out just as he had feared. 
At first, the Bishop merely laughed and jeered ; 
Against the law, this marriage could not be ; 
Then named a price, — this priest with conscience seared ;- 
A treaty must be signed the Rhine to free ; 
This done, from Rome, a Dispensation they should see. 



XXL 

Rudolphus paused, — then went on to relate, 
How that the bishop said, — "The price is small ; 
Thy so-called right is one against the State. 
The Empire and the cities, one and all. 
The Rhine-stream have resolved to disenthrall. 
Show prudence, nephew, shun a crushing blow. 
But, as the papal costs on thee will fall, 
To make amends, and my warm interest show. 
The wedding I'll attend, my blessing to bestow." 

XXII. 

Then, speaking for himself, Rudolphus said, — 
"The Bishop's talk of force caused me no fright ; 
In our stronghold we feel but little dread ; 
But, I gave up what seemed to me my right. 
Because a greater gift had charmed my sight." 
Impulsive Bertha to the baron ran ; 
Mere words could not express her great delight ; 
Her soft caresses pleased the rugged man, 
And made him prize still more the daughter of Quitan. 

— 213- 



CANTO VII. 



I. 



When, twenty years before, with natural pride, 
Dear Bertha's mother married her famed lord, 
As partial dower of the youthful bride. 
She brought along a maiden's ample hoard 
Of linen, coarse and fine, to grace their board ; 
And many clothes she had for future wear; 
All this provision now should be unstored. 
And giv'n to Bertha, as her mother's heir; 
A touching evidence of long past work and care. 



11. 



And now, fair Bertha and the baroness. 
Were busy in the long, bright, summer days ; 
And made with care the simple wedding-dress ; 
They also planned and made, in thrifty ways, 
Fine, marvelous robes to fix and charm the gaze 
Of those who should attend the marriage- fete ; 
Then, Bertha's loveliness must win due praise. 
A beauty, richly dressed, heiress of large estate, 
Would be the cynosure within the castle's gate. 

— 214 — 



III. 



Rudolphus and his wife were soon distressed, 
By signs their secret was becoming known; 
As joy was great and could not be suppressed, 
A glance, a word, a gesture, or a tone, 
Proclaimed the truth, and thus the heart was shown. 
'Twas then announced, — they were indeed elate; 
And for their joy this was the cause alone. 
The coming birthday they would celebrate. 
When Karl, at length, by law, should reach to man's estate. 



IV. 



The celebration of Karl's natal day. 
Was by Rudolphus at the first designed 
To let exuberant feelings have free play. 
And take a certain pressure off his mind. 
But, as the date drew near, he was inclined 
To make elaborate the pomp and show. 
The people's sports, indeed, were not refined ; 
But, he was like them, and could not foree^o, 
Whate'er might make the vassals' pleasure overflow. 

-215- 



V. 



From early days the baron could recall, — 
How his old sire, at three score years and ten, 
Was honored by a brilliant festival, 
A day of sports and games, when armor'd men, 
In mimic warfare charged, and charged again. 
Full forty years had past, and yet the sight 
Was vivid now, as it was lively then ; 
It formed an epoch, that day of delight ; 
'T would live again, and make Karl's birthday bright. 



VI. 



Betimes, Rudolphus did to all proclaim, 
September sixth should be a day of grace ; 
At least, for that glad day, 'twould be his aim. 
To cause bright joy to beam in every face. 
His Karl would come of age, and take his place. 
As heir presumptive to the old domain. 
Prepared for the high duties of his race. 
To bless this day their well-loved priests would deign ; 
And their brave, hardy folk a new memorial gain. 

— 2l6 — 



VIL 



Beyond the church, which as a landmark stood, 
And through the forest, a wide pathway wound, 
Till, on the further edge of the dark wood, 
By a rough paling bordered all around, 
Stretched, east and west, the common, sporting-ground ; 
So used in heathen times, tradition said. 
Here, on the festal days, large groups were found 
Engaged in various games ; here runners sped ; 
Here jousts were held, and the spurred horses foam'd and bled. 

vni. 

On the south side, and shielded from the sun, 
Rudolphus built a tribune, and made seats, 
Where guests might sit and see the races run. 
And mark the skill displayed in various feats 
Of wrestlers, vaulters, all well-trained athletes. 
Most eager these, from the attendant throng. 
To gain that praise the victor ever greets. 
When he is hailed "the skillfuF' or "the strong," 
And hopes his deeds may live in the rude peasant's song. 

— 217 — 



IX. 



As all the preparations neared their end, 
Karl took a hasty journey down the Rhine; 
And spent a pleasant day with his warm friend, 
The jovial baron, Curt von Edelstein, 
Whose mind he hoped with favor to incline 
To ride a tilt with him on the great day ; 
Friendship and knightly sport would thus combine. 
Curt cheerfully agreed; he would array 
Himself in his new armor for the festive fray. 



X. 



As crowning joy, September fifth now brought, — 
A special script, in the Prince-Bishop's name; — 
The dispensation he for them had sought, 
Had come to hand. Henceforth, no word of shame 
Could the bright honor of the pair defame. 
He hoped to hear that he might come to bless 
The marriage, at the church, and there proclaim, 
'Mid those who did the Christian faith profess. 
This union was permitted by His HoHness! 

— 218 — 



XL 



That day the castle swarmed with busy Hfe; 
Each nook and cranny held a welcome guest; 
Directing all, Rudolphus and his wife. 
And Karl and Bertha, had no time for rest; 
Yet, their demeanor lively joy expressed. 
The youthful lovers' sky, at last, was clear. 
No longer kept a secret in the breast. 
Their warm affection might unchecked appear, 
And give a true expression of their love sincere. 

XII. 

Rudolphus lost no time in making known. 
That soon his Karl and Bertha should be wed ; 
The script from Mayence was most freely shown. 
And satisfied all minds. Naught could be said 
If from old Rome, the Pope, the church's Head, 
Consent had given for the sacred rite. 
When from the games, the morrow, Karl had led 
Dear Bertha home, — to put all doubts to flight, — 
Bethrothal would take place ; 'twould be a charming sight ! 

— 2iq — 



XIIL 

At last, the birthday dawned, the sky was clear ; 
Bright banners from the battlements were hung; 
The sombre castle joyous did appear ; 
The distant church-bell, by its clang' rous tongue, 
Proclaimed a cheerful day for old and young ; 
The great, high-altar was adorned with flowers; 
About the family-tombs fond garlands clung; 
The portals were transformed to leafy bowers ; 
And long flags lightly floated from the lofty towers. 



XIV. 

Soon from the vassals' dwellings a dense throng. 
And all the inmates of the grim stronghold, 
A gay procession made; which passed along 
The festooned road ; meanwhile the great bell tolled, 
Reminding all that God their lives controlled. 
This day's high-mass, with all the praise and prayer, 
Of far more worth than pomp, and gems, and gold. 
Should bring a blessing to dear Karl, the heir; 
And fit him well, for years to come, to do and dare. 



XV. 



And now the church could scarcely hold the crowd ; 
For all loved Karl, and wished for him to pray; 
The aged, white-haired priest, unwonted loud, 
Entoned the Mass on this auspicious day ; 
And when, at length, the Host he did display, 
The rapt assembly knelt with one accord, 
And holy joy each loving heart did sway. 
Then up to heaven their aspirations soared. 
In the Te Deum, ancient chant to God, the Lord. 



XVI. 

The mid-day meal took place without delay. 
That all might hasten to the ancient ground. 
Where varied sports should mark this festal day, 
And please the eager throng that pressed around. 
Seats for the guests were on the tribune found; 
Here, also, sat the gentle baroness, 
Attired with taste, her head superbly crowned; 
And lovely Bertha, clad in costly dress; 
Whose gifts should be the prizes for well-earned success. 



XVII. 

Now thrice the trumpets signaled to begin; 
Then off they started, twenty men most fleet, 
To run a foot-race round the field, and win 
The plaudits of the crowd. But, each athlete. 
Intensely anxious to avoid defeat. 
Reserved his strength for the supreme demand. 
Then, as the goal appeared, — How swift the feet! 
And the first man who passed the tribune-stand, 
Obtained a crimson sash bestowed by Bertha's hand. 



XVIII. 

Next, wiry wrestlers, men diversely aged. 
One young and tall, the other short and old, 
Quick closed and clutched, and a long struggle waged ; 
And each strove hard to gain his favorite hold; 
Now wary, now alert, now sly, now bold. 
Then suddenly, quicker than tongue can say, 
The youth was lifted high, and then was rolled 
Ten feet along the ground, as if 'twere play. 
And thus the stalwart graybeard won his prize this day. 



XIX. 

Then horses raced, urged to their utmost speed; 
And heavy weights unwonted far were cast ; 
The archers, so the wondering crowd agreed, 
All former feats this day by skill surpassed. 
And supple youths essayed the slippery mast. 
Six horses, side by side, the vaulters cleared; 
Then, an ambitious stripling; at the last, 
Attempting what competitors had feared, 
Sprang lightly over seven, and was most loudly cheered. 



XX. 



Now Curt and Karl rode forth in armor bright ; 
Each with protected lance and burnished shield, 
To joust as valiant knights in mimic fight ; 
With visors up, the visage unconcealed; 
Each seemed resolved only by force to yield. 
To greet the tribune-guests they drew the rein ; 
Then, visors closed, took places on the field. 
Each hoped he might the prize of valor gain. 
Nor ever dreamed mishap might make the tourney vain. 

— 223 — 



XXL 

At strident signal, spurring as for life, 
The lances pointed for the so-called foe. 
They rushed together in the sportive strife. 
Each gave the other a resounding blow; 
But, in the stress, Curt's splintered shaft did go 
Straight through Karl's helmet's eye-hole to his brain; 
He dropped his shield and lance, showed signs of woe. 
Stretched out his arms, gave cry of mortal pain. 
And backwards from his horse fell helpless on the plain. 



XXII. 

With piercing shriek, dashing her cap aside. 
Poor Bertha rushed to where Karl wounded lay; 
Knelt in the pool of blood, and vainly tried, 
To stanch the wound, her senses all astray. 
She stroked the mailed hand, as if in play; 
"Oh ! Karl ! My love ! one word !" she softly said,- 
Then, sight of awful horror and dismay. 
She saw his final gasps, — beheld him dead; 
And, from the fatal field, by tearful men, was led. 

— 224 — 



XXIII. 

Meanwhile Rudolphus, resolute, declined 
To credit the dread verdict of his eyes ; — 
But said, — "Stand back ! His bleeding forehead bind ! 
Give him at once to drink, e'en as he lies ! 
Quick ! rub his hands and feet ! Say not, Karl dies ! 
It cannot be ! He lives ; 'twas mimic strife !" 
Then trusty vassals thought that it was wise, 
To urge him to console his fainting wife ; 
Twere well, could both awhile believe Karl still showed life. 



XXIV. 

And now the setting sun lit up the clouds 
With colors all unfit for human woe ; 
And, 'mid the splendour, followed by great crowds, ] 
The stricken vassals, while their tears did flow. 
The dead man homeward bore. Their steps were slow. 
First, upwards, 'neath the forest's gloomy shade ; 
Then, past the church, with heavy hearts they go ; 
Downwards, the festooned road its mockery made; 
Then, in the castle, on Karl's bed, his corpse was laid. 

— 225 — 



CANTO VIII. 



L 



Two days passed by in grief beyond control; 
Karl to his grave, beside his sires, was brought; 
Then prayers were chanted for his deathless soul, 
And aid from saints and angel-hosts besought. 
The priest then spake, oppressed by painful thought ; 
"Let us take heed ! What now does God require ? 
Shall the dread Judge of all afflict for naught ? 
If KarFs untimely end proves Heaven* s just ire, 
Can sinners such as we to endless joys aspire?" 



11. 



Then the good, holy man, with streaming eyes. 
In sorrow looked upon the weeping crowd; 
His fait' ring voice broken by heartfelt sighs; 
He, with an effort, spake once more aloud ; — 
"God calls us now to pass through a dark cloud; 
His hand divine inflicts no needless pain ; 
Beneath His righteous wrath our souls are bow'd; 
But, by repentance, we may rise again; 
Then, our beloved Karl will not have died in vain.'' 

— 226 — 



III. 



Rudolphus shared completely the priest's view ; 
Afflictions came, he thought, from God's own hand. 
That he had deeply sinned, he felt was true; 
A curse had fall'n on him, his house, his land ; 
What mortal could an angry God withstand ! 
His spirit broken, he was sore afraid; 
He changed his life ; obeyed the priest's command ; 
Oft, henceforth, at the grave where Karl was laid. 
He, with his wife and Bertha, humbly wept and prayed. 



IV. 



The baroness, when struck the fearful blow, 
Felt that her heart would never cease to bleed; 
Yet, she continued sympathy to show. 
To Bertha and Rudolphus in their need. 
And for them both, God's promises did plead. 
Then by redoubled works for sick and poor, 
A life of usefulness she strove to lead; 
Like saints of old, who did by faith endure; 
And found the woes of life had gain'd a heavenly cure. 

— 227 — 



V. 



With fever'd brain, caused by Karl's frightful end, 
Poor Bertha raved ; 'twas feared that she might die ; 
But, on the fifth day, she began to mend, 
And strength increased as each new day passed by. 
From her full heart, whene'er her aunt drew nigh, 
She spake of Karl, and shed abundant tears. 
No doubt a curse had fallen from the sky ; 
The priest had spoken, moved by holy fears; 
Her task should expiation be through coming years. 



VI. 



The lapse of tnatiy years great changes showed ; 
Rudolphus was succeeded by his heir; 
The Rhine, unvexed by tolls, in freedom flowed ; 
The stronghold was untenanted and bare. 
Near the old church, by Bertha's wealth and care, 
A large, new, Benedictine convent stood; 
This holy house, a refuge from despair ; 
Here, widely known as generous and good. 
The abbess. Bertha, ruled the pious sisterhood. 



I Oct :- 



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